


god knows I am dissonance

by scepticallyopenminded



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: :(((, AU post season 3??, Alpha Derek, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Argentina, Awkward Flirting, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Brief Stiles/OMC, Claudia Stilinski's Family, Derek Leaves Beacon Hills, F/F, Fantasizing, Future AU, Future Fic, Happy Derek, I'm Bad At Tagging, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, Italy, London, Love Confessions, Lydia Leaves Beacon Hills, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Magical Tattoos, Making Out, Making Up, Malia Leaves Beacon Hills, No Breaks, Overuse of italics, POV Stiles, Paris (City), Photographer Derek, Post-Break Up, Post-Canon, Post-Graduation, Running Away, Scenting, Scott is a Bad Friend, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Leaves Beacon Hills, Stream of Consciousness, Tattoos, Texting, These tags are not in order, Top Derek, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, a little bit, bc tho he's hot as fuck WHY NOT, lots of it because derek has a thing, poland - Freeform, possibly ooc a little bit?, post-college, scott gets shit on a couple times just so you know, so much fucking staring at each other, subtle and quick but there, too many run on sentences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 12:28:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14520561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scepticallyopenminded/pseuds/scepticallyopenminded
Summary: Stiles has zero regrets – zero, absolutely none – about leaving Beacon Hills after he graduates from Stanford. He knows his dad is good, has friends, has the force, has Melissa, and knows that even if he and Mel weren’t dating, that Scott has the sheriff’s back, will take care of him, keep him safe.He knows Lydia has no regrets, either, and the two of them hop a plane less than a week after the graduation ceremony, two full weeks before their lease in Menlo Park is even up. They pack up a U-Haul, go back to Beacon Hills for two nights, and then they’re off to LAX, three suitcases and two carry-ons between the both of them.





	god knows I am dissonance

**Author's Note:**

> so to put this in simple words: this is a the longest one shot I've ever written and has absolutely ZERO breaks. it started sort of stream of conscious and was meant to be, at MOST, 8000 words so. I like it this way so I decided to leave it and hopefully it won't be too hard to read. 
> 
> also, there's a lot of foreign language in here (mostly Polish and Spanish) and though I'm moderately fluent in French I know the bare minimum of Spanish and zero Polish so everything is by a translator, so if you speak these languages pleaaase let me know if there are any major fuck ups. thank you!
> 
> okay, have fun, see you later.
> 
> title from "Mercury" by Sleeping at Last  
> (edit 5/3: I just realized the title was off by one letter and I'm banging my head on the wall I hate myself god. it's right now.)

Stiles has zero regrets – zero, absolutely none – about leaving Beacon Hills after he graduates from Stanford. He knows his dad is good, has friends, has the force, has _Melissa_ , and knows that even if he and Mel weren’t dating, that Scott has the sheriff’s back, will take care of him, keep him safe.

He knows Lydia has no regrets, either, and the two of them hop a plane less than a week after the graduation ceremony, two full weeks before their lease in Menlo Park is even up. They pack up a U-Haul, go back to Beacon Hills for two nights, and then they’re off to LAX, three suitcases and two carry-ons between the both of them.

They go to London first – Jackson meets them at the airport, and though Lydia’d rekindled contact their senior year of high school and Stiles has been present for more than a few Skype conversations between the two of them over the years, it’s still weird, the hug Jackson goes in for after the extended one with Lydia.

They stay in a high-end hostel, rented by the week, in private but adjoining rooms. Stiles had, long ago, given up on any reservations about letting Lydia spend her parent’s money on him, but he still does odd jobs over the next few weeks while they’re there; helping one night in a Michelin-star awarded restaurant as a dishwasher, picking up groceries for an elderly couple twice, filling in for a gardener who’s out sick for three days in a row at this big, posh house. It’s not much, but it’s enough money that he’s able to buy some of his own food.

(Lydia, honestly, bless her, rolls her eyes when he does this.

“My family has enough money to last me two lifetimes, Stiles, even if I were to live _luxuriously_. Use it.”)

“How long are you guys staying?” Ethan asks one night three weeks in. They’re all having dinner at an upscale restaurant, a table out on the balcony, lit by soft candles, soft lights, the setting sun. The hostess had, when they’d all arrived, Ethan’s arm around Jackson’s waist, assumed he and Lydia were a couple as well, making an off-hand comment about how cute they all were, on a double-date, which is honestly these days common for them. Has been, since not long after the situation with the Nogitsune, when they’d gotten ever closer, drawn together by the depths of their traumas. It’d only been exacerbated when they both went to college, lived together for three years.

They’ve fucked occasionally over the years, between relationships, when they both felt down for it, but it’s never meant anything. Never will, and after the first time when Stiles realized – he’d felt okay. Even at only nineteen, even though he’d been desperately in love with Lydia only three years previous. They are – friends, best friends. Scott was – is, always will be – his bro, even if they hadn’t ended on the best of terms, but Lydia has safely inserted herself into that best friend category. And Stiles knows that sixteen-year-old Lydia would have gagged at the thought of being associated with Stiles in any dating capacity, and _his_ sixteen-year-old self would have been ecstatic to have someone think he was good enough for Lydia. But now, at twenty-two, they go with the flow of it, don’t correct the hostess.

 Stiles and Lydia glance at each other at the question from Ethan, Lydia delicately sipping her some forty-year-aged red wine while still managing to look scrutinous. It’s a _talent_ , one that Stiles has been trying to learn from her for ages. He shrugs, looking back over at the other two.

“However long we want.”

“Probably not too long, though,” Lydia continues, picking at the remains of her meal, “Isaac is expecting us in France soon.”

“Mind if we join you for a weekend?” Jackson asks, glancing at Ethan, “We haven’t been to Paris in over a year, and…I feel like I should probably apologize to Isaac about some stuff.”

He says this while playing with the ring that adorns his left land, and Ethan’s covers it just a moment. Stiles – god, but for a moment, his heart aches at the scene, wishing he had that. And it’s not uncommon, he knows, especially for people his age, but _then_ he feels it so fiercely it near takes his breath away.

“You’re welcome to if you want to,” Lydia responds, and it’s still weird, maybe, seeing the smile that adorns Jackson’s face at the comment. It’s completely genuine, not a smirk in the slightest, and Stiles _knows_ he’s not nearly the asshole he was as a teenager. Maybe it’s being away from his parents, who while they were good enough had been distant, or maybe just being away from Beacon Hills. Maybe it’s growing up, maybe it’s the long term, happy relationship he has with Ethan, or the pack he’s now a part of. Stiles doesn’t know, but he knows Jackson’s a solidly good person now. He probably actually _does_ feel back for all that went down with Isaac, probably feels somewhat responsible, probably really does want to apologize.

They pack up the very next weekend, taking the tunnel to Calais and staying a night there before taking a train to Paris. They check into an Airbnb in the inner city, and Stiles balks at the price as Lydia sets it up when they’re still in Calais. She rolls her eyes again, telling Stiles point blank “I’m going to live well while I can,” and putting in her credit card number like it’s nothing. She rents it out for a month, again, though they still don’t have any definite plans. Ethan and Jackson end up at Hôtel Pont Royal, and after settling in they all meet at the apartment Stiles and Lydia are staying at before setting off for the café they’re supposed to meet Isaac at.

He’s as pretentious as ever, just an air about him, and especially so dressed in dark jeans, short sleeve t-shirt, leather jacket on the back of the chair he’s sitting on. Still, it’s nice, the smile on his face showing off his dimples, eyes sparkling when he takes in the four of them. He goes in for the hug, too, even plops a small kiss on each of their cheeks.

Then they’re all meeting Gen, who’s got blue and gold streaks through her twists, bright orange lipstick and silver eyeshadow popping against her dark skin. Stiles feels an immediate connection with her as she lets her eyes slide purple for just a moment as they shake hands – a witch, he’s immediately able to tell. Though they’ve only spoken on occasion since Isaac left BH all those years ago, they’ve all heard of Gen, who Isaac met just after moving. They’ve been dating for at least three and a half years, and honestly, after everything and even though they’ve never quite gotten along, Stiles is just happy that _Isaac’s_ happy.

“You talked to Derek lately?” Isaac ends up asking about an hour into the conversation, which has thus far consisted just a bit about Beacon Hills, mostly about college, about London. It’s completely unexpected, Isaac’s directing the question directly to Stiles and Lydia.

“Uh, we saw him like, a month and a half before graduation?” Lydia speaks up, glancing at Stiles for confirmation, “He came to San Francisco for work and we had dinner, but.”

“Why?” It’s Stiles who asks, completely too aware of the way his heartbeat picks up, sees the looks the three ‘wolves give him – Ethan’s eyebrow raise, Jackson’s smirk, Isaac’s suspicious eyes. Isaac shrugs after a moment, throwing his arm around the back of Gen’s chair, still the same too-tall, lanky man he’s always been, splayed out.

“He stopped by about three months ago, stayed in town for a couple weeks. Just wondered.”

“Must’ve been just before he stopped in London,” Jackson says, “Stayed there for a fortnight or so, too.”

“He’s not still living in New York, then?” Stiles asks, taking a moment to wonder why Derek wouldn’t say anything before the stark reminder invades and he pushes it away.

“I think he’s city hopping right now,” Isaac replies, “Still working as a travel photographer, freelancing. He, uh, he said something about New York not quite feeling right, after all.” He pauses, looking down at what’s left of the coffee in his cup, somewhat of a wistful look on his face.

“I think he came by just to check up on me, the way he talked about it.”

“Same with London,” Ethan says, making some sort of gesture toward Jackson, “With Jackson, specifically.”

“I think it’s his way of feeling okay, keeping track of us. Of being okay with being an alpha without a pack,” Jackson puts in.

“He’s an alpha?” Lydia asks, some shock in her voice, and Stiles feels it too. Either he hadn’t been, when he’d visited just – what, now, three months ago? – or he’d hidden it exceptionally well. The other four, for their parts, look surprised at the outburst.

“You didn’t know,” Gen says softly, and both Stiles and Lydia shake their heads. Isaac sighs heavily.

“Not really my place to tell, but, uh, he had a run in with someone in New York a while back. The alpha was a bit feral, I guess? Derek knew her back from when he and Laura lived there, she’d had a small but close-knit pack, and they’d been hunted while spending a full moon upstate and she was the only one left. It kinda, broke her, and she came to him almost begging, and, well.” Isaac shrugs, the sadness in his face reflecting what they’re all feeling. It’s been too much, too long, too many things they’ve all gone through not to know exactly what that feels like.

“Might be part of what drove him out of the City,” Ethan continues, “And maybe, to keep himself from going that same way as lots of alphas without packs do, he’s, uh, checking up on everyone else.”

“Hmm,” Lydia hums, and she’s looking at Stiles again and he’s _not_. Not going there. Lydia is easily closer to him than anyone else in the world, has known all his little secrets over the last few years, but _he’s_ not going to go there. To _back when_. Senior year, the summer before college.

Thankfully, it’s Jackson who changes the subject after a lull in the conversation, asking Gen a little more about herself. They move on.

It’s only later, at the hotel, that Stiles even bothers, grabs his wallet and the little secret pocket within where _that_ – the little business card Derek’d given him when they’d gotten dinner in San Francisco, posh print on the front, gold emblazoned with _Derek Hale, Travel Photographer_ and his Instagram, his email. His new cell number written in pencil on the back.

“Just in case,” he’d said with a smile.

He goes to the Instagram, sees the photos, recognizes Paris and sees the tags of other places in France, England, Scotland, Spain. His most recent post is with Cora and Malia, in Argentina, standing on a cliff with the ocean behind them, dressed in hiking gear and all three looking tanned and happy and _that’s_ – he wants that. Why he and Lydia left Beacon Hills, in search of something like _that_.

He gulps, eventually presses the follow button, and goes to bed.

When he wakes in the morning there’s a notification, a follow back from Derek and a message in his inbox. Just two characters; a winky face emoticon.

He and Lydia go to all the touristy spots in Paris that day, seeing the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe and ending the day at the Louvre and it’s nice to be anonymous, just another person, though everybody they speak to can _hear_ the accent in both of their otherwise flawless French.

Jackson and Ethan leave after a few more days, back to London because jobs and whatever else and Lydia and Stiles end up moving to a different Airbnb after their three weeks at the first one can’t be extended and then it’s two and a half weeks later and their packing up, this time to head to Częstochowa where Stiles’ mom’s mother lives, as well as a couple aunts and uncles and cousins.

It’s the night before their flight and they’re out with Isaac and Gen at a small outdoor bar nearby the two’s apartment. It’s Isaac and Stiles sitting at a table while Gen and Lydia are dancing, their laughter loud and easily heard over the music and it’s nice, Stiles hasn’t heard Lydia so happy that often.

“You think you guys’ll head back to Beacon Hills eventually?” Isaac asks Stiles, and it’s – it’s a question he’s thought a lot about, but also not one he can answer even to himself. He shrugs, taking a sip of his drink.

“You ever think about going back?” Stiles retorts after a long pause, both of their eyes out watching the girls.

“Sometimes,” Isaac admits, “When I’d talk to you guys, hear about what’s going on. Wonder if it makes me selfish, not to follow Chris back when you so obviously needed all the help you could get.”

“It doesn’t,” Stiles says all too quickly, eyes immediately searching out Isaac’s because he _has_ to know, “It doesn’t make you selfish to get out of that hellmouth.”

Isaac seems shocked for a moment before he laughs.

“Nah, you’re right, I know. It’s…too many bad memories with that place. Especially after mom and, uh, Camden and…all that. I thought, y’know, the whole ‘wolf thing would be as close to family as I ever got again, and. I dunno. You guys still feel like pack, even though I know I’m technically an omega, y’know? But Beacon Hills…I dunno how you guys did it as long as you did. How _they_ still do.”

And Stiles has been feeling the same way – guilty, maybe, though he constantly reminds himself that nobody, not even Scott, bothered to contact either him or Lydia after they left. The only three people they’d told was Stiles’ dad, Mel, and Lydia’s mom. But now…yeah. It’s the _same_ , like Isaac has crawled inside his mind and seen all the thoughts flittering through.

“I don’t think I can go back,” Isaac continues, still looking out at Gen and Lydia but with a faraway look in his eyes, “Not after living here for so long. Not after being…” Isaac sighs.

“Happy?” Stiles suggests, and Isaac huffs a laugh, nods, training his eyes specifically on Gen, and yeah, Stiles gets it. _Happy_. Beacon Hills, though is birth place and where he’d grown up, isn’t a happy place for him anymore. Even if it had been back when Scott first got bit, he gets what Isaac is talking about, and he just desperately hopes he can find that, too. He _wants_ to be happy again.

Isaac looks over at him after a long moment, eyes squinted, searching Stiles’ face.

“And Stiles?” He waits until Stiles is looking at him, eyebrows raised in a ‘yeah what’s up’ position.

“You know how often I talk to Scott even still, and just…he’s not going to get it. Ever. Beacon Hills is more than his home, it’s his territory. And no matter what, he’s just never going to see things the way we do.”

Stiles thinks back over to the last honest-to-god conversation he’d had with Scott, beyond texting about what was going on in Beacon Hills or going through Lydia. It had been about four months before graduation, post an argument they’d had about the best plan of attack for the group of centaurs terrorizing Northern California.

“We just – we think so differently,” Scott had pointed out, leaning against his kitchen table in the apartment he shared with Liam, “And I get that I need someone who thinks differently than me as my second, to feel able to share with me when they feel like I’ve fucked up, but when are we ever going to agree on a plan that doesn’t include three hours of arguing with each other?”

And Stiles – he _agreed_ , memories of the past six years streaming at him. It’d gotten worse after he and Lydia had left the town for college, Scott letting it be _known_ he felt like they were abandoning the territory, but they’d near _always_ disagreed with how to deal with all the shit they went through. Like _god_ damn, even Stiles thought they should have killed him when the Nogitsune’d taken ahold of him, and that was _his own life_ he was talking about.

“Stiles,” Scott continues when Stiles doesn’t say anything, taking a deep breath, “I’m just – I need you to be okay with this decision.”

Stiles cocked his head to the side.

“What decision?” he asked, mind flicking through what the hell Scott could be talking about.

“I know you’ve been my Yoda through the last few years,” Scott said, and Stiles snorted because even after fifteen years of best friendship, Scott _still_ hadn’t ever bothered to watch those movies to completion, it’s _dumb_ when he tries to reference them, “But I, uh. Liam’s my second.”

Stiles – he wasn’t _shocked_ , in any way, shape, or form, but it still _hit_ him. Right.

“Yeah,” was all he’d said, before standing, “Yeah, alright.”

And he’d left, and Scott hadn’t even tried to stop him, say anything else. And Stiles _got_ it, understood because it was _always_ going to end this way. But if Scott didn’t by now understand Stiles’ perspective, didn’t value his input, even after they’d been through all the thick and thin together; well, he never would.

“I know,” Stiles agrees in the present, knocking back the rest of his drink, “And that’s why I don’t know.”

The plane leaves CDG at seven the next morning, Isaac and Gen have said their goodbyes the previous night, and Stiles sleeps the two-hour flight to Warsaw, and he loves more now than ever that Lydia refuses to fly lower than business class. They stay there for a little over a half hour before boarding a much smaller plane to Pyrzowice. _That_ flight takes another hour and is coach, but Stiles can’t really blame Lydia considering she got these tickets just a few days earlier.

They rent a car and drive the hour from Pyrzowice to Częstochowa until they come upon a little cottage-like house on the outskirts of the city.

Stiles’ _babcia_ Anastazja greets them as soon as they’re arrived, a flurry of hugs and kisses to both Stiles and Lydia, who’s obviously overwhelmed by the tiny old woman and Stiles has to suppress a smirk because this is a woman who’s gone up against six-foot-five, two-eighty pound werewolves without so much as the blink of an eye, but then his cousin Wojciech spilled out of the house, helped them carry in their luggage and it’s a commotion of Polish.

They switch to English not long after, aware of Lydia, and it’s not until a dinner of _gołąbki_ and _strucla z migdalowa_ , two of Stiles’ favorites, that Anastazja turns directly to Stiles.

“ _Twoja dziewczyna jest piękna_ ,” she says, “Your girlfriend is quite beautiful.”

“ _Babciu_!” Stiles replies, face coloring slightly, and he can see the smirk on Lydia’s face in his periphery.

“ _Tak, to prawda, Mieczysław_ ,” she continues, “Well, it’s true, Mieczysław.”

“Stiles,” he corrects automatically, and his grandmother looks annoyed, but agrees.

“Stiles,” she confirms. Lydia’s almost snickering from her seat by this point.

“ _Dziękuję, ale nie umawiamy się_ ,” the redhead says after a moment’s pause, causing both Anastazja and Wojciech to startle at her near flawless Polish, “Thanks, but we aren’t dating.”

“And why not?” Anastazja asks after getting over her initial shock, switching back to English, “You aren’t going to find much more beauty in someone willing to spend months travelling with you, Stiles.”

Lydia’s now _laughing_ , and Stiles doesn’t even have to look at her to know she’s thinking about all those years he spent in love with her, when he would’ve done just about anything to go on even one date with her. _Now_ , though.

“ _Je te deteste_ ,” he tells her, “I hate you.”

“ _Non, te pas_ ,” she responds, not even a beat later, “No you don’t.”

They stay at Anastazja’s, Stiles sleeping on Wojciech’s futon while Lydia gets the guest room to herself. Stiles’ _ciotki_ Amelia and Poala and _kuzyni_ Zach, Klaudia, and Łucja, who all live in the city, come over the next day, and they have a mini-reunion, even getting Stiles to Facetime his dad for a little while.

“You need to come visit sometime, _Jonatan_ ,” Anastazja says, the sheriff’s face freezing for a moment, “You can bring Melissa. I would like to make sure you are worthy of her.”

And Stiles’ heart hurts a little at that, but in a _good_ way, because he’s so happy that his dad is happy again, and that Mel is happy again. And even more so that his _babcia_ , his _mother’s_ mother, is approving of it all. Because this _is_ all his mother’s side of the family, his dad’s side having all died before Stiles was even born. Hell, Klaudia, who’s only thirteen, is _named_ after his mother, her sister Amelia naming her only daughter that in _honor_ of his mother, and there they are, completely accepting of his dad and his new partner. Wife, eventually, Stiles knows his dad is hoping.

He feels Lydia’s hand enclose over his in that moment, and he squeezes. He doesn’t know if it’s her banshee powers, or just Lydia, or a testament of their closeness, but she’s always been supremely sympathetic to his feelings. It’s not until he sees Anastazja’s eyes on them minutes later that he drops Lydia’s hand.

Wojciech and Zach take them into Częstochowa, where they spend days here and there checking out some local history, spend evenings enveloped in the nightlife, and it’s fun and exciting exploring his Polish heritage a little more in-depth, with these people he hasn’t seen in person since his mom’s funeral all those years ago.

They’ve been in Poland three weeks and two days when he hears Lydia’s soft laugh down the hall late one night. He listens closer, wondering who she’s talking to.

“No,” she says, then pauses, laughs again, “Yeah, I don’t know. I’ll talk to Stiles about it. You know, with…yeah, I know…I _know_ …well, ask Cora, okay?...We will…yeah.”

And _oh_ , Stiles knows now. Malia. She left for Argentina after graduating high school one year after the rest of them, joining Cora there, who she’d gotten very close to after learning her parentage. She and Lydia stayed in touch, and easily Malia was the person Lydia talked to the most after Stiles.

“Yeah, I…no, Malia….one day, I promise…I _promise,_ Malia, eventually…okay…okay, yeah…yeah. Good night.”

There’s a sniffle a moment later, and then Wojciech is at the doorway.

“ _Babcia_ says dessert time,” he tells Stiles, and after Stiles nods he yells the same down to Lydia.

They don’t talk about it ‘til the next morning, as Stiles is making pancakes as Lydia cuts fresh fruit.

“So what were you talking to Malia about last night?”

Lydia stops her knife, turning to him with raised eyebrows.

“You heard that?” she asks incredulously, and Stiles _resents_ that, except that he _does_ have a particular problem being oblivious and it’s one his friends have been using on him for ages, especially since they’re all supernatural creatures who can move without making any _noises_. He’s considerably better about it, but they _still_ make fun of him for it.

Lydia smirks when Stiles sends her a glare, goes back to slicing strawberries.

“Wanted to know if we’d come down to Argentina at some point. To see her and Cora.”

“Hmm,” Stiles hums, “Well, it’s your money, we can go wherever you want.”

Stiles doesn’t _have_ to be looking at Lydia to know she’s rolling her eyes, but her response isn’t what Stiles expects.

“It’s just,” she starts, softly, “Well. Derek’s there.”

Stiles freezes for a moment, but if he’s honest he’s not _shocked_. He may have – _may have_ – been keeping track of Derek’s Instagram since that day in Paris, and the last few posts have been either with Cora, Malia, or marked as in South America. But to hear Lydia say it – for sure – yeah.

“Okay,” he replies after a long pause, when he hears the knife stop again, feels Lydia’s eyes on his back, and flips over the pancakes, “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t go.”

“Stiles,” Lydia begins again, not exactly _pity_ in her voice but clearly _something_ , but before she can continue, or before he can respond, Wojciech is walking into the kitchen and they stop. Lydia doesn’t bring it up again, about five weeks after having arrived in Poland instead suggesting Italy.

“Rome, Venice, Pisa – all the touristy shit,” she says, searching through online to find travel and hotels.

“Sounds fun,” Stiles agrees.

“ _Dbajcie o siebie nawzajem, w porządku?_ ” Anastazja says to both Stiles and Lydia the night before they’re set to leave, a six-a.m. flight back to Warsaw, “Take care of each other, okay?”

“ _Oczywiście, babciu_ ,” Stiles says, “Of course.”

“ _Dziękuję za wszystko, pani Gajos_ ,” Lydia tacks on, “Thank you for everything, Mrs. Gajos.”

Anastazja, at that, purses her lips, eyes expressing disappointment.

“Anastazja or _babcia_ , please, Lydia,” she replies, and – yeah, Stiles has only rarely seen such a genuine and happy smile on Lydia’s face and he feels like they could both be happy, here, long term. Lydia and his _babcia_ have gotten along brilliantly, a real friendship forming between the two. He thinks he may suggest it, after they’re done hopping from place to place; there were plenty of good jobs in Częstochowa, they both spoke passable Polish even if it’s heavily accented, and they both get along with Stiles’ family.

After a long hug with Anastazja, Lydia announces she’s off to bed for the night, and with Wojciech out with friends, it’s just Anastazja and Stiles left in the living room. They sit in silence for a few moments, a rerun of _Czterdziestolatek_ on the television in front of them they’ve been half paying attention to for the past little while.

“ _Lydia to piękna młoda dziewczyna. Mogę myśleć tylko z jednego powodu, dla którego się nie umawiasz_ ,” Anastazja eventually speaks, looking at Stiles with discerning eyes, “Lydia’s a beautiful young lady. There’s only one reason I can think you wouldn’t be dating.”

Stiles just raises his eyebrows in response, curious.

“You both are in love with someone else,” she continues in English, and –

“Ana,” Stiles responds, name only reserved for the most harrowing of situations. It’s – too much, too insightful, beyond what Stiles is willing to deal with and he thinks it’s that way for Lydia, too, right now. He’s _known_ , they all have, that Lydia’s in love with Malia for years, now, but they don’t talk about it. Instead, it’s only looks exchanged between them. Jackson had brought it up briefly when they were in London, when Lydia was in the bathroom one evening, but even that was in passing.

And Stiles – well, it’s not a surprise to know this about himself, but he still isn’t willing to talk about it. He doesn’t know that he ever will be, because even though it all went down over four years previous, it’s still _too much, too fresh, too overwhelming_.

“It is true, Mietek.”

She turns back to the TV the moment after that, the conversation clearly over. Stiles heads to bed not long after, double checking everything’s packed for the next day. He plugs his phone in, makes sure his alarm is set for the next day, and almost against his will opens Instagram.

There’s a new picture since the three days previous Stiles checked, this one clearly a selfie, with Cora and another one of her pack in it, clear blue sky stretched out behind them.

He’ll tell Lydia the next day that yeah, Argentina sounds good.

They take a plane to Warsaw, then catch a nine-a.m. train that’s headed to Rome, the first of their destinations. At first, Stiles hadn’t understood Lydia’s decision to ride twenty-four hours on a train instead of taking the three-hour flight, but immediately understands the second they’re on the train, watching the landscape slide by. It’s stunningly beautiful, and even their shared cabin is luxurious, though Stiles only spends five hours asleep, instead opting to spend the rest of the time catching up on his favorite podcasts and watching the countryside.

They’re in Rome by eight the next morning, and check into their hotel rooms at Hotel Artemide. Their rooms are down the hall from one another this time, but the entire hotel is gorgeous and Stiles feels, once again, incredibly lucky to be friends with someone rich enough to afford all this without the blink of an eye.

They sleep for a few hours, both exhausted from the trip, and then go for dinner at a local bistro and explore the area around their hotel the rest of the evening. The next day they go to the Coliseum and the Basilica of St Clemente and end the night in a club and –

His name is Gianni and he’s got a jawline that could cut glass, dark skin and deep red curls and sleeves on both arms and two-day-old stubble and before he knows it Stiles is telling Lydia he’s going to head back, Gianni standing behind him with his nose in Stiles’ neck and arm around his waist and Lydia has a smirk that’s underlaid with scrutiny and she nods, telling him to be careful.

They stumble into Stiles’ hotel room and before he can turn the light on he sees the flash of gold, and _ah_.

“’Wolf?” he asks when they break apart for a moment, Stiles pulling at the t-shirt the other man is wearing. Gianni, for his part, pauses, cocks his head to the side.

“Spark,” Stiles replies to the questioning look, pulling away for a second to open his hand, letting a spot of purple fire form in his palm, then he’s beyond that, pulling Gianni close again and they stumble towards his bed, and now that he _knows_ Stiles can clearly tell that the other man is _scenting_ him and it’s hurling _too close, too fast, too much_ and to stop the memories threatening Stiles flips them over, bites at Gianni’s neck.

“I want you to fuck me, if you’re up for it.”

“ _Sì, merda_ ,” Gianni breathes back, letting out a small growl. Stiles grins, then makes his way down the ‘wolf’s body.

The next morning isn’t even sort of awkward, luckily, and Gianni joins Lydia and Stiles for breakfast, taking them to his favorite café on the other side of town, then offering to take them to his favorite hole-in-the-wall places in the city for the day.

He and Lydia spend some time talking in Italian, a language Stiles only has the barest grasp on, though Gianni doesn’t stray too far from Stiles the entire day, sitting next to him through meals and occasionally brushing up against him, and they end up back at his hotel room that night, too, before parting amicably the next morning.

“Ooh la la,” Lydia says a few minutes later when he meets up with her in the lobby of their hotel, but he can see the etch of concern in her eyes. He chooses to ignore it, and they head off for another tourist-y day.

They leave after six nights, take a train to Florence, where they spend three days, then Pisa for two nights, and then end up in Venice.

It’s easily one of the most beautiful places Stiles has ever had the pleasure of being, and he thinks _Yeah, here, too_ , after their second day staying at Alla Vite Dorata. Their rooms overlook a canal, and Stiles thinks he could spend the rest of his life, easily, waking up to this view.

The fourth day they’re there, just leaving the Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari when Stiles hears it – a laugh, too familiar. He knows Lydia’s heard it too, not just his imagination, when she turns her head quickly to the right, and he follows her line of vision. The square is crowded, but he sees the shock of dark hair, the iconic jacket, and it’s Lydia who raises her voice slightly.

“Kira!”

Kira – and _yes_ , it’s Kira, though what she’s doing in _Venice_ is anybody’s guess – turns around, eyebrows drawn together. It’s probably Lydia’s hair that gets her attention, and her expression changes immediately to bright and happy, she squeals, running over toward them and dragging someone with her.

“Lydia! Stiles!” she near screams when she reaches them, but they’re both laughing in return and there are hugs all around.

“What are you guys doing here?” Kira asks as she pulls back, huge smile on her face.

“Just…seeing the sights,” Lydia answers, “What about you?”

“Ah!” Kira’s smile grows, and then the person behind her – a little taller than Kira, slim build, olive skin and long dark hair – steps forward at Kira’s beckoning.

“This is Rosa, my girlfriend. She’s from here.”

“ _Piacere_ ,” Rosa says, “Kira has told me lots about her previous pack, it is nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Stiles replies at the same time Lydia says, “ _Enchante_.”

“Are you, uh, still living in Japan?” Stiles asks after a moment of silence. Kira shakes her head.

“New York City. I got into Columbia. I’m graduating in December. Rosa works for a tech company there.”

“Well congratulations. How long are you guys here?”

“Until Friday,” Kira tells them, “Semester’s starting on Monday, so we’ve got to be back.”

“What about you two?” Rosa asks, maybe out of politeness or maybe because she’s curious, and Stiles wonders for a moment what she is, since she obviously knows about Kira’s supernatural background, having mentioned them as _pack_. Lydia and Stiles look at each other, then both shrug.

“Until we want to leave,” Lydia replies, and at the other two’s confused look, continues with, “We graduated Stanford in May, have been doing a European tour since on my parent’s dime. Haven’t really discussed the future farther than a couple weeks out.”

Kira looks like she wants to ask something, and Stiles _knows_ what’s on the tip of her tongue, but instead something sparks in her eyes.

“Well, have you ever been to New York City?” she asks, and at their head shaking, invites them along with her and Rosa.

“For a couple of weeks. There’s a guest bedroom in our apartment, if you want. We can show you around when we aren’t in class or at work, right, Rosa?”

“Of course,” Rosa agrees amicably enough, smiling pleasantly, and Stiles senses the slight aura she’s giving off. It’s – Stiles is fairly certain she’s some sort of shifter. He’s has spent the bulk of the last six years around supernatural creatures, and yet, he’s not quite certain if it’s rude to ask.

“We’ll, uh, talk about it, yeah. I’ve always wanted to see the Big Apple,” Stiles says, and Lydia seems agreeable to the plan.

“We should go to lunch, for now,” Rosa suggests, as it’s nearing two in the afternoon, “I was going to take Kira to Pizza Al Volo, it’s a pizza place not too far from my childhood home, if you two are up for it.”

They do go, and split ways some few hours later when Kira and Rosa head back to her parents’ place for dinner and Lydia and Stiles go elsewhere. They meet back up near eleven p.m. to enjoy some nightlife, and they end up at a wine bar with Rosa’s younger sister, talking and laughing until early morning.

There happens to be a couple of seats open on the same flight Rosa and Kira take back to New York, and Stiles and Lydia join them. Due to the last minute, though, they aren’t together, and Stiles ends up in a middle seat between a business person and a man who falls asleep, snoring loudly, as soon as they’re in the sky. He puts in his earphones with a sigh, readying for the long flight.

They do end up staying at Kira and Rosa’s apartment in their guest room, Lydia on the bed and Stiles on an air mattress. It’s a nice little apartment only a few blocks from Columbia, and Lydia feels no shame, apparently, in asking them how they afford the place Sunday morning as they’re all eating breakfast, pastries from a local place Kira swears “are the best you’ll ever eat, I promise”.

Kira laughs.

“It was, uh, actually. I lived with Derek, here, for the first couple of years before he left and I asked Rosa to move in. He sublet the apartment from an old family friend, and the lease is technically still in her name, so it’s still rent controlled.”

“You lived with Derek?” is Lydia’s next question, surprise clear in her voice.

“Yeah, we kept in contact after I left Beacon Hills, so I knew when he left to come to the City. When I got into Columbia I figured we could catch up, and he said he had an extra bedroom I was more than welcome to use while I was here. Then, y’know, he left to do whatever and left the place with me.”

She pauses, taking a drink of coffee.

“Didn’t he come see you guys just before he left New York?”

“Yeah.” It’s Lydia who replies. “Yeah, he did. Didn’t tell us he was planning on moving from the City, though, we didn’t learn that ‘til, uh, Isaac told us back in Paris. Didn’t tell us you were here, though.”

“Huh,” Kira shrugs, picking up a Danish, “Well, yeah. I mean, he’s a travel photographer, he was constantly travelling anyway, rarely was here for longer than two weeks at a time, but. After that trip he said he was moving on, decided to freelance instead and left the apartment. He, uh, was actually the one to suggest asking Rosa to move in, since she rented this dingy little place much further away from her workplace.”

“It wasn’t _dingy_ ,” Rosa speaks up to argue, having been mostly quiet through the morning. Stiles thinks she’s just naturally that way, seemingly content to watch Kira talk on and on.

“It was, dear.” Kira looks sympathetic, leaning into Rosa to drop a kiss on her cheek.

“Anyway,” Kira says after a moment, sitting back up and clapping her hands together excitedly, “What do you guys wanna do today?”

They end up going to Times Square, then Central Park, then going for a late lunch at a place nearby. It’s late summer, the air stale and tourists everywhere, but it’s still New York City. Coming from someone who grew up in Beacon Hills, having only gone to big cities on special occasions, Stiles is finding he really _loves_ big cities. He’d loved Stanford and the surrounding area, he’d adored their trips to San Francisco, and so far, every big city has been everything he’d dreamed of. Even though he isn’t a huge fan of crowds and _that_ is what big cities have to offer, everything else more than beats out the anxiety he has being around so many people _constantly_.

Kira goes back to class the next day, and Rosa to work, but they leave the other two with a spare key to the apartment and after a lazy morning they head out to a local coffee shop and spend a few hours with their laptops, Lydia doing things with mathematical equations that Sties doesn’t quite understand, while Stiles spent some time writing and scrolling through the internet.

“So Argentina,” Lydia brings up when it’s nearing four p.m. Stiles has just gotten them both refills on their coffee, and he raises his eyebrows as he sets their mugs on the table, sitting down across from her.

“Argentina,” he repeats, and maybe it’s partially just to be frustrating because he doesn’t really _want_ to have this conversation. Lydia glares at him, tapping her manicured fingers on the table because even though they’ve been nonstop traveling for months now she’s managed to still stick to her usual schedule of getting her nails done weekly. It’s meant to be threatening, he knows, because she _loves_ a good, pointy nail because of the tactical advantage if they get in a fight with some supernatural, and Stiles knows a good potion she can dip those nails in to make them poisonous to various creatures. Even thus, Stiles has long since gotten used to her threats and they don’t really bother him as much anymore.

“I was thinking,” she continues after an extended frown in his direction, “We could go after we’re done here, whenever that is, if you’re ready for it.”

Stiles – yeah. He snorts, hard, letting out a gulping laugh afterward.

“Ready for it.” He laughs again, shaking his head, and Lydia’s looking carefully at him, definitely not laughing along with him.

“Nah,” he continues after a moment, “I mean, yeah. Yeah, I think it would be good to, uh…see them all again.”

“I want to be sure,” Lydia continues, speaking slowly, “I want _you_ to be sure. This isn’t just – a one-off spontaneous dinner date with me present. Cora and Malia, they think Derek’s gonna be there for an extended time, he’ll probably be around the entire time we are. You’ll no doubt end up spending some time with him just _because_.”

“I’m fine with it, Lydia.” There’s a sharp edge to Stiles’ voice that he doesn’t purposely put there but exists nonetheless, and he winces after he says it. Luckily, Lydia’s used to his occasional acerbic attitude and it doesn’t bother her as much as it could. She nods tightly.

“Well, let’s make plans. Say, mid-September? We can talk to Kira and Rosa about it, make sure we wouldn’t be overstaying our welcome.”

That would give them just about three weeks in New York City, which sounds plenty good to Stiles – lots of time to hang out, plenty of time to see all that he’d ever dreamed of.

“Sounds good,” Stiles agrees.

Kira actually laughs at the idea they could ever overstay their welcome – “You can stay as long as you want, really, it’s an open bedroom we only use for storage most of the time, it’s not a big deal” – and so they buy plane tickets for September 17 and Lydia calls Malia to talk about hotel arrangements.

“Apparently, Cora’s alpha owns a couple of the hotel spas right on the beach in the town,” Lydia explains to him the next day after the phone call, “And they’re going to put us up in hotel rooms for no cost. It’s where Derek’s been staying while he’s down there.”

“Beach hotel, in Argentina at the turn of spring, for free,” Stiles gives a run down, shaking his head, “We live a bit of a charmed life.”

“You’re lucky you’ve got a friend with rich parents who still feel guilty enough about their divorce to let her use their money,” Lydia replies, and Stiles knows her well enough to know she doesn’t mean anything by it except exactly what she says. She doesn’t have the problems with her parents that many rich kids shoved to the side usually do, and she’s warm enough to have admitted a time or two that one of the main reasons was her inclusion in the close-knit pack during those formative years. Even so, she and her mom are pretty close now that she’s been let in on the supernatural elements of her daughter’s life.

“True,” is all he says.

Later that evening, Lydia showering, Kira in class, and Rosa out for drinks with friends, Stiles is sitting in the living room by himself, browsing his phone as a rerun of _NCIS_ plays in the background, when he gets a text.

 ** _Unknown_** _So you’re coming to Argentina?_

It’s not a number he has in his phone, but Stiles faintly recognizes it, and after a long moment of staring Stiles realizes. He jumps up from the couch, heading back to the bedroom to grab his wallet. He pulls out Derek’s business card, flipping it over, and sure enough – the number matches.

He adds the number to his contacts first, then clicks back over.

_Yep. Flight’s September 17._

His heartbeat’s fast enough that he’s sure if Kira were here she’d be asking him if he’s alright, but this is – besides the weird little smiley face via Instagram all those months ago – the first contact he’s had with Derek. In a _long_ while. And – honestly, Stiles _is_ being honest with himself – it’s _his own_ fault. He’s the one who’d fucked up, not Derek, and Derek’s been nothing but civil, pleasant, friendly as ever toward him, and none of those are what he ever would have associated with Derek Hale six years ago.

 ** _Derek_** _Cool. Malia and I are apparently in charge of pick up at the airport since I don’t have a conventional job and Malia just plain misses you._

 **_Derek_ ** _Though don’t tell her I said that, she’d never admit it herself and she might kill me for revealing her secrets._

Stiles huffs a laugh, smiling. Malia’d grown up so much since they found her in the woods, in the best ways possible. She still has some ferocious, wild tendencies, is blunt as hell, and has trouble being patient, but she’s come to recognize the best parts of having friends, having a pack, a _family_.

_I wouldn’t dare, she’d actually stick to her promise of, ahem, ‘ripping my throat out with her teeth’. Anyway, she deffo mostly misses Lydia lol._

**_Derek_ ** _You don’t think I can hold to that promise still?_

 **_Derek_ ** _She talks about Lydia all the time, but I don’t think she knows she’s in love with her._

Stiles absolutely laughs, because yeah, Lydia’s kinda the same way – too independent to feel like she can admit how into Malia she is, even if it’s obvious to everyone around her. Also, because _hell no_.

_You’re a big ole softie underneath all the scruff and canines and claws, so no. I don’t think you could ever manage to follow through._

Stiles heads back out into the living room, smiling down at his phone. He plops back down on the couch against as he hears the shower shutting off.

 **_Derek_ ** _:( Have I really lost all my mystery with you?_

_You had any to begin with?_

There was a time – years ago, but definitely at _one point_ – that Stiles was afraid of Derek, regardless of what he _told_ Derek. By the time he was seventeen, though, those days were over, the two of them ( _all of them_ ) having been through too much by that point. But this – _this_ – Stiles’ heart is still beating a million miles a minute, unsure of the way he’s coming off. Because Stiles is too aware – or was, those four years ago, was but may _isn’t_ so much anymore, it’s been so long and he doesn’t _know_ Derek anymore, not really – of Derek’s feelings.

 **_Derek_ ** _I might be more offended by that if I wasn’t able to literally smell how I used to affect you._

And – oh, yeah. It was more than just – long ago, how it used to happen, being scared and.

No, now all Stiles can think of is the press of Derek’s body against him a couple months after his eighteenth birthday, nose buried in his neck, the soft release of breath followed by the whisper of “I can _smell_ it, Stiles, and I can’t stand it anymore, smelling and not _doing_ anything about it. Tell me this is okay.”

And _that_ isn’t what Derek’s talking about, for sure, and especially because there is not “used to” about _that_. And Stiles, being again honest with himself, _that’s_ an always, forever, never-ending thing, because Stiles knows Derek at his base – smart, clever, caring (maybe to a fault, sometimes), with dry humor and sarcasm to rival Stiles’, and is one _hell_ of a lover, okay – and he knows he’s _always_ going to be into him like that, regardless of their standing as…friends? Packmates? Whatever.

_Well FINE, but I haven’t been afraid of you for YEARS, thank you._

“Your dad finally propose to Melissa?” Lydia’s voice cuts through Stiles’ thought quick enough that he actually jumps, which is saying something because ‘wolves are notoriously good at sneaking and Stiles has gotten significantly better at honing his own senses, damn it, except that apparently he’s not as good as he thinks he is, considering the near heart attack he has as Lydia comes into the living room.

It’s a moment after he’s sure he’s still alive that Stiles _comprehends_ what Lydia’s just said, and – wait, what?

“What?” he asks, confusion clear in his voice and on his face. Lydia shrugs, sitting on the opposite end of the couch and grabbing the remote control from the coffee table.

“Just can’t figure out who else you’d be texting with such a big smile on your face, if not your father with such good news.”

“Not my dad,” Stiles answers slowly, still trying to wrap his head around the way Lydia’s mind works, “Think he’d spare me a phone call for news like that.”

Derek decides that moment to text back, and Lydia glances down at his phone. It’s just a second before the gentle looks drops off her face.

“Derek?” she asks, voice incredulous, and Stiles instinctively turns his phone away from her prying eyes as if that’s going to do something.

“Yes, _Derek_ , Malia told him we’re coming down. Apparently the two of them are in charge of picking us up at the airport.”

Lydia’s mouth upticks for a moment at the mention of Malia, but then immediately falls back into a frown.

“I just can’t imagine what he thinks he’s doing texting you so casually after all that went down,” she says in that weird tone of aiming for casual but with a score to settle.

“I think I can give him a pass, considering,” Stiles shoots back, taking the moment to look down at his phone.

 **_Derek_ ** _Yeah, but you clearly have a danger kink so I feel I’m doing okay with the claws and the teeth ;)_

And Stiles – whoa, hey, that’s clearly flirting, right? He’s a little struck that _Derek Hale_ just used a winky-face emoticon _again_ , but more at the rush that goes through him as he remembers that feeling, of sharpness followed by soft finger pads across his stomach, arms, the sting of fangs against his shoulders, neck.

“Stiles.” Lydia’s voice again cuts through his thoughts, and when Stiles looks up he’s met with an unimpressed glare, which he gives her in return, because _he’s not_ – what, exactly, is he doing that’s so bad. Lydia’s _his_ best friend, supposed to be on _his_ side.

“Don’t let him do this to you,” she continues just as quick, and.

What?

“Lydia,” he says slowly, feeling like they’re having two very different conversations after all, “Did I ever tell you what actually happened between us?”

And the _look_ Lydia gives him – it’s absolutely scathing, like she can’t believe he’d even ask that question, but even though Lydia _is_ on his side, it seems, she doesn’t seem to have the story straight, what with the roasting she’s giving Derek.

“Of course I do.” And even her voice is full of incredulity. “You guys were fucking, he thought it was casual, you didn’t, you told him you loved him, he broke up with you. End of story, he doesn’t deserve you after that, I don’t give a shit how much he says he’s sorry or grown up or whatever.”

And oh, oh _god_ , she _doesn’t_ know. Stiles feels a pit at the bottom of his stomach at her acidic words, because the only person she’s describing now is _him_.

“Kinda the opposite, Lyds,” he says after a long pause. Lydia’s expression immediately changes, from fierce and protective to shocked. There’s a few moments where she takes in what he’s said, and then – confused comprehension.

“You mean…” she starts but doesn’t finish. Stiles does for her.

“Yeah. He told me he loved me, and I…left him.”

Lydia’s quiet for a few seconds longer, and all Stiles can be grateful for is that she’s not staring at _him_. There’s still – Derek’s still there, on the other end of the phone, maybe waiting for Stiles’ response, but it feels hypocritical now, now that he’s heard what Lydia’s saying and.

“You’re in love with him,” she eventually comments, and it’s not a question. She’s not _asking_.

“I am,” he replies after another period, “I have been since, god, seventeen years old.” It feels a bit weird, since he’s never admitted it aloud, barely even admitted it to himself.

“Then, why…” Lydia trails off again, and he can _see_ her wheels turning, recognizing the situation, changing the way she’s been thinking about it all these years in real time.

“I don’t know,” Stiles replies, and he’s not looking at Lydia either because now he can’t, not with this all coming out and now…now he recognizes the way she’s been looking at him all this time, thinking he didn’t want to see Derek because he broke Stiles’ heart and it’s a new perspective for him, too, “I was…scared, I guess, and for all the time after that, after I wasn’t scared anymore, I felt like I was definitely not good enough for him after what I did to him.”

“Scared of _what_?” Lydia asks like she’s never been afraid of anything in her life, her tone harsh but Stiles gets it because he _fucked up_ without any good reason, not really.

“Scared of the fact that this man, this gorgeous, intelligent, witty, amiable, hot man, could ever be in love with…me.”

And _suddenly_ , it’s a change so quick Stiles barely catches it, just one moment Lydia ‘s confused and angry and the next her eyes ring clear with understanding, still underlined with anger as she looks at him.

“You’re lack of self-confidence will always be your downfall.” And fierce Lydia is back in full force. “The fact that you – god, Stiles, it’s a miracle Derek’s giving you a second chance to even be his _friend_.”

Stiles laughs, humorlessly, feeling all that Lydia’s saying deep in his gut, and he can’t believe _he_ has the audacity to do exactly what he has been – flirting with Derek after what he did. He knows it’s been four years, and Derek was clearly reciprocating, but _still_.

“Tell me about it,” he replies, but Lydia’s having _none_ of his shit.

“Not because you’re an asshole, but because you’re an _idiot_ ,” she continues, “You are worth every ounce of affection anyone gives you, Stiles. You are without a doubt one of the most loyal people I’ve ever met, brilliant in ways I will never be, intensely protective of anybody lucky enough to have you care about them, and one of the best friends I’ve ever had. Regardless of what people, myself included, have led you to believe your entire life, you are more than worthy of the love of someone like Derek.”

She’s shaking by the time she’s finished, but Stiles – he’s positively _stunned_ , everything she’s said so far from anything he ever expected from her. He doesn’t know what to say in response, so he doesn’t say anything, and they’re quiet for a few minutes. Finally, Lydia speaks up again.

“If he takes you back into his life, you need to take it, Stiles. Derek deserves better than you gave him, and you deserve everything he ever gave you. Even if it’s just as friends, but especially if he gives you a second chance.”

“Okay,” Stiles agrees, and he’s not crying but he feels the pricks in the back of his eyes, a near thing, “Thank you.”

Lydia just nods in response, turning back to the TV and resuming flipping through the channels.

“Just don’t make me make myself that vulnerable ever again,” she murmurs, her lips twitching up, and Stiles laughs at that, unexpected. Lydia’s nickname’s been the Ice Queen throughout their time as a pack, and while it’s always been in a fond, teasing sort of way, there’s an underlying form of truth to it; she doesn’t like to talk about her emotions, always careful to act like nothing affects her. She’s gotten considerably better since joining the pack, recognizing that she’ll always have people who are behind her no matter what, people she can depend on, so now it’s more a running joke.

Stiles feels his phone vibrate, and it startles him, so wrapped up in his own head. It makes Lydia laugh, and she glances over at him.

“He’s probably sick of waiting for your response,” she says, and sure enough, when Stiles checks, it’s Derek.

 **_Derek_ ** _Sorry if I overstepped my bounds, there._

Stiles doesn’t need to be in the same room to know that Derek’s picking at his thumb like he does when he’s anxious, and it makes Stiles feel worse, thinking about all the things probably running through Derek’s head.

_No, no, sorry, Lydia distracted me. Believe me, no bounds overstepped here._

It’s less than thirty seconds later he gets a response.

 **_Derek_ ** _Oh. Well, good._

 **_Derek_ ** _Sorry, gotta go, dinner with the pack. Talk later?_

It’s very hopeful, for Stiles and probably, he assumes, for Derek.

_Whenever. I’m always available._

“I mean it,” Lydia says softly, and Stiles looks up to see her watching him, “You deserve to be happy, Stiles, and Derek obviously makes you happy.”

“You know you do too,” Stiles throws back, not able to help the small smile that finds its way to his face, “Deserve happiness, I mean.”

Lydia’s smile blooms, and she gives a huff of a laugh.

“Why do you think I’m so adamant to go?”

They do text more over the next couple of weeks – Stiles gets to hear about Argentina, Cora’s pack, how much Derek likes it but doesn’t think he’ll be there past summer, and in return Stiles tells him about their trips, carefully avoiding all attempts Derek makes to ask about Beacon Hills, only talking about his dad. Derek eventually gets it and stops asking.

There’s more flirting, here and there, some references to their previous relationship, and it _all_ fills him with certain amounts of anticipation, ready to _see_ him again, knowing that there might be something to _this_.

Leaving Kira, Rosa, and New York City is decidedly harder than Stiles expected it to be, and they spend a few minutes on the sidewalk, taxi packed and ready to head to the airport, doing more hugging that Stiles is strictly comfortable with.

“Tell Derek he needs to come visit sometime, I miss him,” Kira says as they’re climbing into the taxi.

“Of course,” Stiles promises, and with one last wave, they’re off.

The flight is extensive and, as someone who’d only been on a plane once before this entire trip, _rough_ , as it’s a full ten hours longer total than the flight to London from Sacramento. They end up staying in Panama City for four hours on layover, and Lydia insists they explore for a little of that. They end up in the heart of the city, half an hour from the airport, and nearly miss their flight when they get stuck in traffic. It’s another layover in Córdoba, this time for seven and a half hours, and they end up in a hotel room attached to the airport overnight before making the final hour flight to Buenos Aires.

Derek and Malia greet them at the gates, and it doesn’t even take a half a second to spot them in the crowd, Stiles’ magic feeling out before he even realizes what it’s doing. He nudges Lydia as he sees the two Hales still searching around, feeling his heartbeat kick into full drive immediately when he sees Derek.

Who’s looking tanned, happy, in his normal ensemble of dark wash jeans basically painted on his legs, dark shirt, leather jacket, short beard, dark hair longer than Stiles has ever seen it before. Stiles barely takes in Malia next to him, and when Lydia’s line of vision follows his own she’s grabbing his hand, pulling him over until the Hales see them.

Both of their faces immediately break into huge smiles, and Malia’s running toward them and Lydia drops Stiles’ hand and before he can even comprehend all that’s going on the girls are hugging tightly. He shifts his eyes back over to where Derek’s making his way over at a much slower pace, grin still firmly in place and it feels so dramatically different than the last time they saw each other, both stepping on eggshells when Derek showed up at their apartment with the offer of dinner.

Stiles doesn’t think he has to do that, anymore, not with all they’ve been talking about, and he steps forward too, dropping his bag when they get close enough and Derek’s pulling him into a hug before they so much as say “hi”.

It’s subtle, but not subtle enough for Stiles not to notice, when Derek immediately starts scenting him – just a quick drag of his nose along Stiles’ neck, much like one might encounter in a hug that if he didn’t know Derek was a ‘wolf he might mistake it as just that. Stiles’ heartbeat, already as high as it is, rockets at the gesture, and when they eventually pull back from each other the smirk on Derek’s face is obvious.

“Hey,” he’s the first to speak, and Stiles replies a moment later with “Hi.”

Derek bends down, picks up the bag Stiles’ dropped, the other slung around his chest.

“You look good,” Stiles says, and at the deepening of Derek’s smirk feels himself redden, if just a little, “I mean, being here. Happy. Looks good on you.”

“Uh huh,” Derek responds, full of amusement, and after a short pause his smirk turns to a soft smile, cocking his head slightly, “You look really good, too.”

Stiles feels his face heat slightly more at the words, but before he can respond, say anything, think anything, Lydia and Malia are there. His eyes shift to them, both with the biggest grins he’s ever seen on their faces, holding hands. Not letting go, Malia pulls Stiles into a hug next, _not_ so subtly scenting him.

“God, I’m happy you guys are here,” she says as she pulls back, and Lydia and Derek toss each other greetings.

“We’ve got a four-and-a-half-hour drive, so we better get going. How many checked bags?”

“Three,” Lydia answers, and they go off to the baggage claim, and it’s another near twenty minutes before they’re in the parking lot.

“A fucking Jeep,” Stiles says with a shake of his head when they get to the car – silver, significantly newer than the blue one no doubt still sitting in his dad’s driveway, but much the same build. Lydia rolls her eyes, but Derek laughs, and even Malia smiles. Derek opens up the back, throws their bags in the trunk.

“Don’t worry, not today but maybe I’ll let you drive it sometime while you’re here.”

“It’s yours?” he asks, handing Derek the final duffel as the other two climb in the backseat.

“Rental, but under my name, yeah. Wanted something so I could drive out into the mountains and middle of nowhere to get pictures, and this thing delivers.”

“Does it ever,” Stiles lets out a clearly jealous sigh, and Derek laughs again.

“I promise, you can give it a whirl one day. Maybe go out with me, there’s this gorgeous rock formation about a half hour down the coast I think you’d like to see and I know I’d like to get some more pictures of.”

“I’d like that,” Stiles agrees, getting in the front seat.

Though Buenos Aires is just like most big cities – lots of buildings, lots of traffic – once they get out of the city the majority of the drive is a whole lot of – nothing. Literally, nothing, the two-lane highway is surrounded by open fields on all sides, the occasional house or building breaking up the brown and green. Forests in the distance are pretty, but nothing particularly special. Regardless, it’s easily one of the best four hours rides Stiles has ever been a part of, with Derek and Malia regaling Lydia and him with tales of the pack and asking questions about their travels in return.

“And Kira said to tell you that you need to visit sometime soon, she misses you.”

“She still with Rosa? We talk sometimes, but she doesn’t mention her all the time.”

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles confirms, letting his hand fall out the open window to catch the wind that whips around them, “They seem really into each other. It’s super sweet, the way Rosa looks at Kira and vice versa.” He glances looks through the rearview mirror, seeing Lydia and Malia with their heads close together, whispering to each other with bright smiles on their faces.

“It seems like everyone’s got somebody, y’know, and it’s great. I’m so happy for them all. Jackson and Ethan are like, a whisker’s width away from getting married, and Isaac and Gen seem genuinely comfortable and happy, and I can’t see Rosa and Kira breaking up, and now.” Stiles shrugs, giving a small gesture to the backseat, and Derek glances at him.

“But?” he asks, and if Stiles didn’t know as many werewolves as he does he’d assume the ability to sense when there was a “but” was a ‘wolf thing, how often Derek has been able to sense it. But he knows it’s more a _Derek_ thing, maybe even a Derek-knows-Stiles-too-well thing. Stiles shrugs again.

“I guess sometimes it feels like everyone has someone but me, like I let it all slip away, or I could be happy now, too.”

“Hmm,” Derek hums, “You certainly seem happier now than you did last time I saw you.”

“Yeah, well.” Stiles stops it at that, not willing now to tell Derek why – why, from being away from Beacon Hills to just the fact that they’re back on a talking basis, back to what it was like _before_ all the shit that went down before Stanford.

“I’m not pushing, but just so you know, I’m a great listener if you ever wanna talk about what happened,” Derek says after a long moment of silence, and Stiles nods. If the smile on his face is a little sad, Derek doesn’t comment on it.

“I will, soon, I think.” Stiles glances in the backseat again, where Lydia’s either too in her own bubble to be listening to their conversation or nicely acting like she’s not hearing it. “Just not…now.”

Derek looks in the rearview mirror for a second before his eyes slide back over to Stiles just another couple, then turning back to the road.

“Whenever.”

Cora greets them at the hotel they’ll be staying at – it’s not anything too grand, not near what they’ve gotten used to living in, but it’s still gorgeous and more than that Stiles can hear waves beating against a shore in the background, right on the other side of the hotel.

She looks good, hair shorter than Malia’s shoulder-length, ends dyed blue. She immediately hugs Lydia, pulling her in tight, before moving on to Stiles, and while it’s not inherently unwelcome Stiles is a little thrown off for a moment because he knows it’s been five years since they saw each other, but she certainly always seemed the type to hold a grudge and they didn’t exactly get along grandly while she was in Beacon Hills.

Nonetheless, she looks more than happy to have them here, now, bright smile on her face.

“C’mon, c’mon, we’re going to get you settled in and then we’ve got _asado_ and _una hoguera_ on the beach tonight.”

She’s got a bit of an accent, not strong but there, and she grabs one of the bags as Derek unloads them from the Jeep, leading them inside.

They end up in a shared suite with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small sitting area. Everything’s a little outdated, but still obviously high end, on the top floor, the windows from the bedrooms and the bathroom overlooking the ocean in a stunning view.

“Are you sure we can’t pay you for this?” Lydia asks after taking a look around, all their luggage in their rooms, “I feel bad not, considering it’s obviously not going to be rented out while we’re here.”

“Pack doesn’t pay,” Cora waves her hand as if waving the very idea out, then looks down at the watch on her wrist, “Now, I’ve got one more campground to check out before the day’s over, please rest up, I’ll come to get you in a couple hours to come down for food and to meet the rest of us!”

Then she’s out in a flurry, leaving the four of them in the hotel room, Lydia and Stiles staring after Cora.

“She’s, uh, a bit of a bomb these days,” Derek comments, “Always going. It’s refreshing, but a bit much to anyone who hasn’t been around her the past few years.”

“She’s considerably different than last time we met,” Lydia agrees, and Derek laughs.

“Yeah, we’ve obviously talked a lot since she came back down here, but it never really got through to me until I got here. It’s nice, I mean, she was so much like me when we were younger; quiet, a bit closed off, y’know, it’s nice to see her like this. She’s obviously happy down here, and I’m glad she found her place after, y’know, everything.”

They’re all quiet for a moment, nobody sure what to follow that up with, and it’s Derek who breaks it.

“So, anyway, my room is just down the hall on the right-hand side, room 602. Uh, you guys wanna stay here, maybe sleep, or we could go to the café down the street?”

“Ugh, _Raiquen’s_ , please, I haven’t had a _cortado en jarrito_ yet today and I feel like I’m dying,” Malia speaks up, and that pretty much seems to settle it. They wait while Lydia and Stiles change clothes, considering they’ve been in the same stuff for nearly twenty-nine hours, and then they’re off walking down the street.

Derek and Malia, it seems, know _everyone_ , as each person they see on the little dirt street that sits between the ocean and the hotel greets them. The café is only a couple of blocks down, a little corner store with seating outside and none inside.

“ _Tu habitual?_ ” The man behind the counter says after greeting Malia and Derek, who both nod.

“ _Si, y…_ ” Derek starts, then turns to Stiles.

“Yeah, I speak almost no Spanish, so.” He says, and Lydia steps up, rolling her eyes.

“ _Café con leche para mí y un Americano para Stiles_ ,” she says, “Café con leche for me and an Americano for Stiles.”

“Eh, _dos disparos en el Americano, por favor_ ,” Derek cuts in, pulling out his wallet, “Two shots in the Americano, please.”

He hands over a bill, waving his hand at the man who takes it before shoving the wallet back in his pocket, gesturing out to the tables where they all go out and sit.

“So what’s going on on the beach tonight?” Stiles asks once they’ve all sat down. Lydia rolls her eyes again, Malia laughs, and Derek answers, gesturing toward the sky and sniffing deeply.

“Can you smell that?” he asks, and Malia and Lydia both nod while Stiles breathes in. He can smell something, just barely.

“Smokey?” he asks, and Derek nods.

“Smokey, meaty. _Asado_ is basically barbecue, meat usually seasoned only with a little bit of salt and then grilled over an open flame. The pack’s got a pit further down the beach where we do the grilling, and _una huego_ is a bonfire.”

“We usually have these _asado’s y hogueras_ about once a week, just a big pack meeting, since we kind of live all over the place here in town and the countryside,” Malia puts in, “Usually would’ve had it two nights ago, but we decided to move it here as a greeting to you two.”

“And how many are in this pack?” Lydia asks.

“Fifty, give or take,” Malia answers, maybe subconsciously leaning a little more toward Lydia, “About half are the founding family, including Alpha Prieto, and the other half are kinda from everywhere. About fifteen of us aren’t from Argentina at all.”

Their drinks come out right then, the same man who’d taken their orders.

“Marceau, _esta es Lydia y Stiles, amigas de mi país_ ,” Derek introduces, “This is Lydia and Stiles, friends from home.”

“Nice to meet you,” Marceau says, and Lydia replies with, “ _Igualmente_ ” while Stiles nods his head with a smile.

“You’ll probably be seeing us down here pretty often because these two are addicted to coffee,” Derek inputs, shooting an amused smile at Lydia and Stiles.

“Four bachelor’s degrees between the two of us in four years, you’d be addicted to coffee by the end of it, too,” Stiles grumbles, and Marceau laughs.

“Enjoy, _y avísame si puedo conseguirte algo más_ ,” he says before heading back inside, “And let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

“I know this is an Americano, but what did you say about _dos_ something or other in it?” Stiles asks a moment later, looking down into his cup.

“Two shots of espresso versus one,” Derek replies, shaking his head again, “How exactly did you grow up in California with a best friend with Spanish heritage and _not_ know how to speak it?”

“Uh, Northern California,” Stiles counters, “And we only had to take a foreign language in high school if we didn’t test out, and I’ve been speaking Polish as long as I have been English it wasn’t hard to test out. I know the _basics_ , but that’s mostly from hearing Mel talk when we were younger.”

“And in college instead learned French and Russian,” Lydia points out, and Stiles holds up his hand.

“First, I am far from fluent in Russian, I barely know more Russian than I do Spanish. But, I mean,” he shrugs, “I never really felt like I had a reason to learn Spanish because I never planned on living anywhere it would be necessary. And you _know_ why I decided to minor in French.”

“Because one of the TA’s was really hot,” Lydia responds in such a way it’s clear she’s mimicking Stiles.

“She certainly was,” Stiles agrees, and there’s a lull in conversation as they all enjoy their drinks.

They end up staying at the café for near two hours, Derek getting up to grab refills at the hour mark, and Cora calls Derek as their walking back.

“Yeah, absolutely…Yeah, we can meet you at the pit. Sure…yeah, okay, see you there,” is what the rest of them get out of the conversation.

“You need to stop by the hotel for any reason?” Derek asks Lydia and Stiles, who both shake their heads, and instead Malia and Derek lead them past the hotel, further down where there’s clearly a gathering starting, smoke coming up from a pit, the smell of cooking meat getting thicker as they get closer.

The Prieto pack is significantly larger than any they’ve had contact with in the past six years, and it’s a little overwhelming though they’re all incredibly friendly and easily switch between Spanish and English to include Stiles in the conversations. They get introduced to everyone, including Alpha Ines Prieto, her third son Iggy who Cora introduces as her fiancé, and Sekai, who was born in South Africa but joined the pack at thirteen along with her father.

Sekai seems especially interested in Stiles, keeping near him while they wait for dinner to finish, speaking with him and laughing at all his jokes, and Derek keeps looking over at Stiles, clearly unhappy. It’s only because he can’t keep his eyes off Derek – who’s socializing like it’s _second nature_ to him – that Stiles even notices it, but when he does it’s unnerving, and he’s going over everything that he’s said since they arrived, trying to figure out why Derek would be annoyed with him.

It’s not until Alpha Prieto – “Ines, please” – announces dinner is ready, and Lydia and Stiles are invited forward to be the first to get their food that Stiles understands. Sekai nudges him with an elbow to urge him forward when suddenly, Derek is there, right behind the two of them, tense and placing a hand directly on the spot where Sekai nudged him. His eyes aren’t red, not ‘wolfed out in the slightest, but Stiles can sense that it’s close to the surface.

There’s an obvious tension throughout the pack at that, at least until Cora’s laugh rings out from a few feet away, and then everyone’s chuckling or laughing, and Sekai steps back, nods to Derek.

“Apologies, _alfa_ , I wasn’t aware.”

And _now_ Derek’s ears and the tops of his cheeks are red, and he breathes in, eyes wide, and drops his hand from Stiles like he didn’t realize what he was doing, and Cora’s near doubled over in laughter. Stiles glances around, sees everyone staring at them, Lydia’s expression scrutinous, Malia with a smile on her face, Ines with her eyebrows raised, a certain rigidity to her stance. Derek blinks, looks at Ines.

“ _Lo siento, Alfa Prieto_ ,” he says, speaking just loud enough that Stiles barely catches it, but their close enough to Ines and her hearing more than good enough to catch the apology. She nods, stiffness leaking from her body, and then it’s back to normal, Ines encouraging Lydia and Stiles forward where they grab food.

Sekai avoids Stiles the rest of the night, while Derek keeps close by but goes quiet, embarrassment still rolling off him. The food is incredibly delicious, and Stiles doesn’t know how long they’ll be here but he looks forward to enjoying this at least once a week. A bonfire is started not too long after, huge and hot, as the evening drops into darkness. Everyone’s sitting around, drinks having been broken out at the same time of the food – “Wolfsbane beer, not for you,” Derek says, taking the bottle from Stiles and swapping it for a different one – and it’s nearing midnight when Ines approaches the spot where Stiles, Lydia, Malia, Derek, Cora, Iggy, and his older sister Jess are sitting. She drops down into the sand like it’s nothing, and Derek tenses just slightly.

“ _Está bien, Derek, lo entiendo. Sekai no significaba ningún daño y tú tampoco_ ,” she says, smiling and shaking her head, “It’s fine, Derek, I understand. Sekai meant no harm and neither did you.”

“I apologize regardless,” Derek returns, though he relaxes.

“So how long have you two been together?” she continues, making conversation, except. She gestures between Stiles and Derek, and.

Shit.

They both go stiff, and suddenly the hand Derek has in the sand right next to Stiles’ leg feels too close. Stiles’ eyes immediately find Lydia, who’s watching him carefully, and Cora next to her is staring at Derek with the same expression.

“ _No estamos_ ,” Derek answers after a long, awkward silence, and though Stiles doesn’t understand what he’s said in full he sees Ines’ face go through confusion, then comprehension, then a pinch of sadness.

“ _Lo siento_ ,” she responds, and _that_ Stiles gets, and feels that untimely pit in the bottom of his stomach because this has all been going well and he hopes, god he hopes, that it hasn’t ruined it for long. After another moment, though, Derek loosens up, and Stiles feels his eyes on him. He looks back, seeing the softness in Derek’s eyes, the small smile on his face, and returns it before Derek looks back over to Ines.

“ _Quizás pronto, aunque_ ,” he says, and suddenly everyone in the circle is smiling, all sense of unease gone, and though Stiles still doesn’t understand what Derek said the general contentment that goes through the circle makes _him_ feel good, too. He leans into Derek, who accepts it, and just like that, everything feels okay again.

He and Derek go back to the hotel around two a.m. as it gets significantly cooler, Malia and Lydia opting to go for a short beach walk before parting ways, and as they get to Derek’s door, closer to the stairs than Stiles’, they pause.

There’s a moment where Derek’s staring at him, just that half an inch height difference feeling significant in that second, and Stiles feels _ready_. Instead, Derek smiles at him, stepping away toward his door.

“Good night. See you in the morning? _Raiquen_ ’s has the best pastries in the area, we can go for breakfast.”

“Yeah,” Stiles nods after a moment, feeling a little bit of a lump in his throat, “Yeah, okay. Good night.”

Derek’s gone, his door shut behind him, before Stiles can fully recognize what’s just happened, and with a suddenly heavy heart he continues down the hall. Maybe that’s it, maybe Derek might still _want_ to kiss him but maybe Stiles ruined it all those years ago and maybe all that he’s ever going to have with Derek is a friendship. He remembers what Lydia said – “You might have to be okay with just being friends with him” – and thinks about that as he undresses.

He gets to bed not long after, hearing Lydia come in, but he’s awake for hours after.

Breakfast ends up being the four of them again, though Malia leaves halfway through with a “Gotta get to work, see you guys later!” and at Stiles questioning look Lydia tells him she’s a sous chef at Jess Pierto’s restaurant on the other side of town.

Stiles heads into the café to get more coffee for them this time, and as he waits for Marceau to make the drinks he watches out the window, sees Lydia and Derek talking, serious looks on both their faces. Derek glances inside at him at one point, expression breaking into a smile when he sees Stiles looking, and he’s nodding at whatever Lydia’s saying. They’re done by the time Stiles gets back out with the coffee, and Derek’s scrolling through his phone.

“Good news?” Stiles asks as he sits back down, seeing the huge smile on Derek’s face.

“Got a big commission,” he informs the other two, clicking away at his phone, “Photos of _cataratas del Iguazú_ for Escapism Magazine.”

“Oooh,” Lydia says, “I’ve heard about the falls. They’re some of the best in the world.”

“Yeah, the magazine’s doing a spread of original photos of waterfalls of the world. Only thing is I gotta submit by next Thursday.”

“That’s still a week and a half away,” Stiles points out, “Where are they?”

“Up north, border of Brazil. It’s a bit of a drive, I’ll probably go to Buenos Aires and take a plane to Iguazú.”

He finishes typing into his phone, setting it down with his thinking face on.

“Y’know, I could probably get Malia, Cora, and Iggy on board if you two wanna come along. We can stay in Buenos Aires for a few days, anyone who wants can come up to Iguazú with me for a night.”

“I’m certainly not gonna say no,” Stiles replies, and Lydia nods along.

“I’ve been wanting to check out _Universidad de Buenos Aires_ , too.”

Both Derek and Stiles turn to look at her at that, but nobody decides to comment on it.

“We’ll talk to the others tonight. I think Cora wants to take you guys to dinner at Jess’s place.”

Everyone does end up agreeing to the plan, Cora, Iggy, and Malia putting in time off and Derek books a couple of hotel rooms in Buenos Aires. They end up spending the next few days before the trip like that – Derek shows them around a lot, since he’s the only one without a day job. Malia comes along when she doesn’t have to work, and sometimes they end up hanging out with other members of the Prieto pack – Lydia gets along really well with Beth, Ines’ sister, who works as a freelance mathematical engineer.

Two nights before they’re set to leave they have their second _asado_ , and once again the entire pack gathers for meal and community. It’s nearing one a.m. when Malia and Lydia disappear, and Lydia texts him about a half hour later telling him she’s not coming back to the hotel tonight, she’s staying over at Malia’s. Stiles laughs, showing the text around.

“About fuckin’ time,” Cora comments. Hera, Ines’ oldest, next alpha, and Cora’s best friend from all signs, nods in agreement, leaning back against Cora’s arm and flicking through some app or another on her phone.

“I feel like I know Lydia on a much more personal level, with how much Malia talked about her,” she confides, and Stiles laughs.

“Believe me, having spent the majority of the last four and a half years with Lydia, it’s not one sided at all, which is saying something because Lydia plays her cards close to her chest.”

“It kind of reminds me of how Cora was just before she and Iggy started dating,” Hera continues, “Would not stop talking about him, I think it was the first time she really let herself out of her shell.” Hera’s gaze wanders over to where Derek and Stiles are sitting. “Must be a Hale thing.”

“ _Cuidadoso_ ,” Cora says, nudging Hera, who turns away with a laugh. There’s an immediate shift in feeling from Stiles’ left, and he looks over at Derek. It’s too dark, and their too far from the bonfire, to make out anything, and curious, Stiles opens his hand, allows a small orb of light to shoot out from it to hang just above their little gathering. Derek’s ears are tipped red, embarrassed again, though everyone’s eyes are now on him, on the orb.

“Since when?” Cora asks, sitting up a little more, and even Derek seems surprised.

“What?” Stiles asks in return.

“You’re a witch?” Hera’s the one to question, curiosity lacing her voice, “We don’t get magic beings around here much, it’s all weres, mostly ‘wolves.”

“You guys don’t have an emissary?” he asks, sucking the orb back into his body, a certain amount of warmth following it.

“Emissaries aren’t necessarily magic; in fact, very few are. You’ve met ours, Valentin? He’s a ‘wolf.”

“Not something I knew before now,” Stiles says, “Uh, no, not a witch. Spark. Subtle difference, but witches draw all their magic from spells and potions. Sparks have a lot of inherent magic, don’t have to use spells necessarily, though I haven’t really, uh, explored it a whole lot since I came into it fully when I was twenty.”

“ _Una chispa_.” Hera looks up toward the star-lit sky, wracking her brain. “Uh huh. Yeah. I’ve heard. Sparks need, uh, specifically, close relationships with other supernatural creatures to fully expand their horizons.”

“Pretty much,” Stiles agrees, “And I haven’t really had any close relationships with any except Lydia since my spark fully developed, and Lydia’s powerful but just barely on the edge of what one might consider paranormal, so.”

Hera and Iggy both seem more curious and interested, while Cora and Derek are looking at him with confusion.

“Wouldn’t Scott, as a True Alpha, have more than enough in him to help?” Cora inquires, and. God, but Stiles doesn’t want to go there right now.

“Like Hera said, _close_ relationships.”

Something dawns in Derek’s eyes, but Cora’s still definitely confused, probably because last _she_ was aware Stiles and Scott were actual best friends.

“Cora, no.” Derek shakes his head, looking at his sister with his serious face on, and Cora nods after a moment of staring back.

“Right. Well.” She stretches, pushing Hera off and standing with a yawn. “I’m going to head to bed, I’ve gotta be at Mathilde’s at eight, it’s my turn to make the rounds again.”

“Might as well come with you.” Iggy stands as well, and after a round of good night’s the two of them are off toward their apartment.

“Yeah, I am going to turn in as well. Uh, Stiles, though, I think Mamá and I would like to talk a little more with you about _chispas_ before you leave. Like I said, we don’t usually get too many magic doers around here and it would be interesting to learn from one himself.”

“Of course,” Stiles nods, “Not like I’m doing a whole lot else, and I’m more than happy to talk to you about what I know.”

Hera says her goodbye, and then she’s off down the beach as well, leaving Stiles and Derek. Derek takes a drink, leaning back into the sand a little more, watching the waves hit the beach, soft sounds of conversation going on around them.

“It’s a Hale thing?” Stiles questions after they’ve been quiet a few moments, amused, “You’ve been talking about me, huh?”

Derek chuckles, takes another drink.

“What can I say, I talk about you guys a lot. Sure, maybe you came up more than the others.”

“Hmm,” Stiles hums in response, and it’s all the talking they do for the next little while, though Stiles does put his hand back behind him, leaning back, a hair’s width away from Derek’s hand.

They leave Sunday morning, Iggy driving his SUV and Derek the Jeep.

“We’re gonna go with Iggy and Cora,” Lydia tells him as they’re packing up, a small bag each, set for five nights. Derek’s checking over to make sure he has all his photography equipment, and Stiles raises his eyebrows.

“You sure you wanna leave us alone?” he asks, and hears Cora laugh from where she is just a couple of feet away.

“I’m doing _that_ on purpose,” Lydia replies, and a few minutes later they’re on the road.

It’s pleasant the first hour; weather sunny, pleasant, not too hot, Stiles rolls down the window a smidge. They only talk a little, instead spending the time in their own minds, and maybe that’s why at the hour mark Stiles sighs deeply.

“What’s on your mind?” Derek asks, and it’s open, genuine, and Stiles knows this is it, he’s going to talk about it.

“Beacon Hills.”

There’s a pause, Derek nodding.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Stiles sighs again.

“I do. I have, but I haven’t – the reason I didn’t earlier, y’know, is because Lydia refuses to talk about it. She’s – just as out of that, out of the pack, regards them all the same I do but she refuses to say anything bad about them, or even talk about all that went down, why we decided to leave after graduation. And I can’t talk to dad about it – he’s still there, he’s like this honorary part of the pack especially since he’s dating the alpha’s mom – and I don’t want to, like, influence any thoughts he may or may not have about the entire situation.”

He stops, not sure how to continue, not sure where to start, but Derek takes the opportunity he leaves.

“You know why I left?” he asks, and Stiles glances over, surprised.

“Thought it was because I – y’know, what went down with us.” And there’s the pit in his stomach again, at mentioning it, and he dearly hopes talking about it like this doesn’t ruin their chances of even just being _okay_ with each other, thinks that every time it’s so much as mentioned, really. Derek doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, just shakes his head.

“Well – yeah, kind of. To be honest, you were the only thing holding me there that last year after Isaac left. My pack had fallen apart, I wasn’t an alpha anymore, and I knew I wasn’t ever going to be happy being part of Scott’s pack.”

“But you stayed for an entire year because of _me_?” Stiles asks, a million and one other questions floating through his mind, that one night where he’d just _said_ it and Stiles had – literally, left. Ran toward Stanford, ignored the looks Lydia gave him and ran around the questions everyone had until Scott mentioned one day weeks later that Derek was leaving for good this time, heading back to New York.

“I would have stayed forever for you, but,” Derek shakes his head, hands tightening on the wheel, “I left after you and Lydia headed down to Stanford because Scott – like I said, I knew I couldn’t be a part of his pack, that it would never work out because I would never be his second and that’s what – I was groomed to be, y’know, was always meant to be Laura’s second and though I fucked up as an alpha my ‘wolf _expected_ that kind of leadership in one way or another. And Scott and I didn’t get along, had very different styles and ideas on how to do things.

“Well, uh,” Derek pauses, clears his throat, “About a month after you guys left, I was already thinking about moving on when Scott came to me. Said he understood that this would always be my family’s land, that he’d never have the grasp on it we did because it was Hale territory through and through, but that as an omega I, uh, more likely to be gone after by hunters and brought danger not only to myself but to all of Beacon Hills and to _his_ pack. That I needed to join his pack or needed to leave.”

“Big load of hypocrisy,” Stiles comments, and Derek chuckles darkly at that.

“Whatever it was, I knew I couldn’t do it. Especially now that you and I – now that I didn’t really have any reason to stay in town. Beacon Hills may always be Hale territory, but the only three living Hales want nothing to do with it.”

Stiles is unsurprised, though he hadn’t known anything about this until now. Scott had simply told them that Derek left, never said why explicitly but it was assumed all around it was because of the Stiles debacle.

“So I doubt it comes as a surprise to _you_ that Scott and I have always had different views on things as well,” Stiles begins after he knows for sure Derek’s done, “Lydia and I went to Stanford for their superb accolades, sure, to learn, but also because we both felt like we needed a break from all the shit that went down.

“But, uh, stuff still went down in BH, and we came back like every other weekend to work on strategizing or fighting or whatever, and it ended up that Scott and I were fighting more often than anything else, and then Malia left about halfway through our sophomore year, and we were the only ones still there from the originals, and…I dunno, Scott stopped telling us every time and we came home less and less and, uh, a few months before graduation he sat me down and straight up told me Liam was replacing me as his second. Even after all we’d been through, and I knew then and there Scott was _never_ going to listen to anything I had to say, to value my input at all.”

“So you and Lydia…”

“Yeah. I mean, Lyds was safely the person I talked to the most, easily my best friend by that point, so I told her what happened, and we decided to, I dunno, travel the world after graduation, decide what we wanted to do with the rest of our lives because it was easy to see that Beacon Hills wasn’t endgame for either of us. She’s too smart to stay there, and I’m too over that fucking town.”

“Well I can’t say I’m sad you decided to come here,” Derek replies, checking his rearview mirror where the other four were following him at a safe distance.

“You can’t, huh?” Stiles laughs, feeling the stress of that entire event leaving him, just at being able to talk about it, just at Derek taking it in such stride.

“I was serious when I said I was glad to see you.”

They don’t talk about anything so deep the rest of the trip, sticking to lighter topics. When they get to the hotel, though, it’s clear something else is up, because they’ve got three rooms; one single, two doubles.

“I got the place before you two got together officially and didn’t think to change the rooms,” Derek says as they stand around, gesturing to Malia and Lydia, “I guess we could cancel one of the doubles, but at the same time, I don’t _really_ wanna room with you guys right now.”

And Lydia’s smirking while Malia agrees silently.

“And you don’t wanna room with your sister and her fiancé?” Stiles guesses, which is true also.

“We’ll take a double, give the other to you guys,” Cora decides, grabbing the room keys from Derek’s hand, “Malia and Lydia can take the single.”

She hands out room keys like it’s nothing and it’s not, not really, sharing a room with Derek especially because they have two beds. Everyone drops off their luggage before they meet back up for lunch at the hotel’s restaurant.

“I’m booking a last-minute flight to Iguazú for tomorrow morning, I’ll stay there overnight tomorrow and come back Tuesday mid-day,” Derek says as they eat, on his phone, “Who wants to come with?”

“Definitely,” Stiles says, but Lydia’s shaking her head.

“Malia and I’ve got a tour of _la_ _Universidad_ tomorrow,” she says, and Malia’s nodding along.

“And Iggy and I’ve already been a couple of times and I’m sure we’ll go again. More here to hang out, think we’ll take Malia and Lydia to i Latina for dinner tomorrow night,” Cora says.

“Double date?” Derek is _definitely_ laughing at that on the inside, but knowing Cora and Malia and Lydia, is carefully keeping it from the outside. Instead, he turns to Stiles, eyebrows raised.

“Just us?”

“Just us,” Stiles confirms, and he _sees_ the not-so-subtle looks on all the other four’s faces.

Derek makes the plans – the plane leaves at nine a.m. the next day – and then they head out, exploring what they can of Buenos Aires. They end up at a cheap bakery a few blocks from their hotel for a dinner of sandwiches before going to the hotel’s bar, which is located right next to the swimming pool. Cora, Iggy, and Lydia go swimming while the other three sit at a nearby table keeping track of the drinks, and it’s not too late before Stiles and Derek are heading to bed with good byes, ready to wake early enough to get a quick bag packed and get to the airport through early morning traffic.

The flight is only a couple of hours, and Stiles ends up sleeping the entire time while Derek reads a book – Spanish, Stiles absolutely has no idea what it’s about – and then they rent a car and head up Puerto Iguazú and check into –

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Stiles says when he sees the hotel – the hotel _spa_ – that they’re staying at. Derek snorts, parking the vehicle and grabbing his bag.

“Figured with just the two of us, one room, might as well be in the lap of luxury while we’re here.”

Not only is the actual architecture pretty, but the views all around are, too. Derek checks in as Stiles looks around the lobby – stone, modern looking, a big comfy couch in a lounge with large windows that look out into a forest.

Their room has just as pretty a view, looking out into a small garden with bunches of bright flowers and then a forest beyond that.

“This entire town is built as pretty much a tourist destination, what with the falls just a stone’s throw away,” Derek tells him, dropping his bag on the bed closest to the door. It’s what other’s might consider a meaningless gesture, but Stiles knows better; Derek’s always put himself between Stiles and the closest entrance.

“Speaking of…” Derek continues when Stiles just nods in response, looking out their window and tossing his own bag on the other bed.

“Right, right,” Stiles agrees, and shrugs off his hoodie. It was much hotter, more humid, than it had been through the rest of Argentina since their stay, and Stiles knows it’s at least partially because they’re much more northern than even Buenos Aires. He double checks that he has his wallet and phone before following Derek back out the room.

The falls are much more beautiful than Stiles anticipated, even though it ranges from sunny to cloudy through their entire time there. They go off the beaten trail a couple of times – now he knows why Derek insisted on getting him those hiking boots – and he gets to watch Derek in his element; setting up shots, getting lower for some and framing it out, and it’s _fun_.

It’s not too full of tourists, a fact he thinks has to do with that it’s the end of September for one and also a Monday, though they meet quite a few people speaking all sorts of languages.

“I think I’m good,” Derek tells him as it’s nearing eight p.m., sun low in the background. They’re back on the platform, Stiles taking a few not-so-professional shots with his phone to send to his friends and show the others. He’s going through the shots on his camera – there’s got to be at least a hundred – and Stiles watches him for another few seconds, loving the intensity on his face, before Derek looks up, eyebrows raised.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Stiles replies.

They leave a few minutes later, heading to the car.

“I’m thinking shower and then food,” Derek suggests, and it’s more than easy to agree with that. They head back to the hotel and end up at a pasta place for dinner and Stiles lets Derek order and it’s kind of funny to watch the waitress clearly trying to flirt with him. Stiles doesn’t understand any of what they’re saying to each other, but it’s not hard to guess from the giggling and Derek’s polite smile and when she leaves to put in their order Stiles snorts, taking a drink of the house red they’d ordered.

“She’s into you,” he says to Derek, who shrugs, picking up his own glass.

“Yeah. It gets annoying.”

“It’s annoying to get hit on all the time?” Stiles asks doubtfully. He knows he’s hot, he’s been hit on often enough, and even though he’s only been interested a fraction of the time it’s always been a bit of an ego boost.

“When it happens all the time, they don’t get my hints that I’m not into it, and I can’t even get a meal without it happening?” Derek rolls his eyes. “Yeah. It gets annoying.”

“Fair enough. Though I am genuinely curious whether or not it ever works out for them.”

Derek runs a hand through his hair, laughing.

“Yeah, no. I don’t do casual.”

He’s staring at Stiles when he says it, and it’s more that than the actual words that hit Stiles, and he’s again transported back to the end of the summer between high school and college, the gentle breeze coming through Derek’s open window while they’re lying on his bed, and it’s like a fucking movie – white sheets, sun shining down, morning.

“I love you,” Derek whispers to him. Stiles is half asleep, but Derek’s voice washes over him, the three words rushing in, his heartbeat racketing up, a summer full of fucking, of, shit, of hanging out, spending days binging Netflix and Derek bringing him lunches at his job organizing files at the station.

He doesn’t respond, just kisses Derek again and it starts something up and then he’s getting fucked, again.

He takes off two days later, not bothering with a “goodbye”, ignoring Derek’s text when he asks where he’s gone, moving into the apartment he and Lydia are sharing three days before they were supposed to.

“You really don’t,” present day Stiles says, but before he can say anything else the waitress is back, saying something to Derek and setting down their salads.

It’s past ten when they finally get back to the hotel, but instead of heading to bed Derek suggests the pool.

“Might as well use it while we’re here.” He shrugs.

“When’s the flight tomorrow?”

“Noon.”

“We’ve got time,” Stiles agrees, “But I did not pack a swimsuit.”

Derek just laughs, reaching inside his own bag and pulling some out, tossing them to Stiles.

“How do you know these’ll even fit?” Stiles asks, holding them up. They’re stereotypical board shorts, bright blue with a white hibiscus pattern.

“I’ve seen your hips, I know what fits you,” Derek retorts, pulling out another pair, just like the blue except in red, “And anyway, it’s drawstring.”

“Uh huh,” Stiles replies, then shrugs. It won’t matter in the end, as long as they’re not loose enough to fall off him.

“You’ve got bathroom,” Derek says, and then he’s – whoa, stripping off his shirt and Stiles is super comfortable with nakedness, okay, he’s had no choice being around ‘wolves for as many years as he has and besides that he’s always been pretty open about the human body, whatever, but he still doesn’t expect Derek to just – whip it off like that. It’s a moment of watching Derek’s back, the muscles moving under skin, triskele prominent and dark in the middle of his back, the smaller tattoo Derek’d gotten their senior year – a ankh embedded with a prick of blood from each of the pack’s members for protection, done after a Seer had told him to – on his upper right shoulder.

(Stiles still questioned the validity of the Seer, who’d been hitting on Lydia the entire time they’d been in town and would have done anything to impress her. Nonetheless, nobody’s died since Derek got the tattoo, but that also could have simply been that they’d gotten better at fending off threats).

And Stiles – being around Derek like this, for an extended period, spending every day with him, in his space – it’s taking its toll. Suddenly, regardless of Lydia’s voice in his head, Stiles doesn’t know if he can just be friends with Derek. And sure, he may not “deserve” a second chance with Derek, but god he hopes he gets one, because he is _in love_ with the man.

“Okay,” he says, swallowing, when Derek turns back around, eyebrow raised, as Stiles doesn’t move, “Okay.”

Derek – the absolute _fucker_ – totally smirks at him as he passes toward the bathroom. He knows what he’s doing, and Stiles sort of hates him for it (he’d hate him immensely more if he didn’t think Derek _meant_ it, if it didn’t give Stiles that thin sliver of hope he needs, because Derek’s been flirting with him since that first text).

“Shit,” is what Derek says when he sees Stiles as he comes out of the bathroom, just the suit on. It’s Stiles’ turn to raise an eyebrow, as Derek’s eyes make their way along his chest, his arms.

“I just haven’t – seen you without a shirt on since – you’ve got a _lot_ of tattoos.”

Stiles glances down at his body, throwing his shorts and shirt on his bed. It’s true, his chest and upper arms and shoulders are littered with small black marks, mostly runes, a few other symbols here and there. There’s a couple more about the pack; the silhouette of a wolf, a pentacle, a triquetra.

“They help me, uh, contain and use my spark,” he tells Derek, shoving his feet in sandals and throwing a towel over his shoulders, “Ready?”

The pool is still open, though the only people around are a couple of the hotel’s employees, one moving a cart of laundry while the other follows with a pile of towels. They move along quickly, and then it’s only Derek and Stiles.

Derek’s all about it, throwing his towel down on one of the tables and diving in. He’s down there for an incredible amount of time, and Stiles almost has flashbacks to _the pool_ , wow, six years ago, holding Derek up for two hours so he didn’t drown but then Derek’s breaking the surface, gulping in breath and wiping his face down, looking at Stiles still standing on the edge with a big smile. The moon’s rays are streaming through the skylights, the only other lighting dim wall sconces and the entire thing gives Derek an ethereal sort of glow.

“Well?” the other man questions, sliding a hand through his hair and coming up to the edge of the pool, crossing his arms against the edge and looking too much like all those hot guys in movies. It’s a little much for Stiles, so he tosses his towel next to Derek’s, does a stretch.

“Cannonball?” he asks, glancing to make sure this is the deeper end of the pool, and Derek snorts, kicking away from the wall and swimming to the other end a while before turning, opening his arms toward the large, open pool, a gesture as if to say, ‘It’s all yours’.

Stiles rolls his shoulders before hurdling toward the edge of the pool, jumping at the last minute and curling up.

He nearly hits the bottom of the pool even though it’s fairly deep, and as he unfolds his feet press against the floor, rocketing him back up toward the surface.

He doesn’t scream after he runs a hand over his face, pressing his fingers to his eyes for a moment before opening them, though Derek’s _right fuckin’ there_. He does maybe squeak, a little, but he _does not_ scream.

Derek laughs anyway, bright and open and it’s – and god, even though Derek was happier and more at peace when he left Beacon Hills, he wasn’t like _this_. So easy to laugh, so smiley, so clearly unstressed, and Stiles is both incredibly happy for him and _envious_. He hopes to get like this, someday, too.

He thinks Derek might be helpful, in that aspect, both as a perspective but also as someone Stiles so desperately wants in his life, forever.

“Fucker,” Stiles tells Derek, now, and his nose flares in laughter again, smile huge. They stare at each other for a moment as Stiles catches his breath, and there’s a look on Derek’s face unlike one Stiles’ has seen in so long and it’s making his heart _ache_ , and they’re drifting closer even though neither of them are ostensibly moving, and then they’re only an inch apart and –

“Race?” Derek breaks the spell, and it makes Stiles jump, okay, yeah, but he recovers as soon as he understands what Derek’s said, and nods.

“One end to the other?”

“Deal,” Derek agrees, and after they’re set at one end, ready to push off, he turns to Stiles, eyes squinted, “No magic.”

“Uh,” Stiles starts, shaking his head, “Only if you don’t use your werewolf abilities.”

“I can’t help it,” Derek counters, and Stiles shakes his head again.

“Then I’m allowed to use my magic.”

Derek licks his lips, and Stiles does _not_ follow the motion with his eyes. Those lips turn into a smirk immediately after, though, so he knows that Derek’s caught him.

“Fine. But no teleportation.”

Stiles _laughs,_ he can’t help it.

“My magic is so far from that advanced, you have nothing to worry about,” he tells Derek, and that’s the end of that because it’s a few moments later Derek says “Okay. On three.”

“One,” Stiles starts, and they both tense up, “Two. Three!”

And Stiles pushes as hard as he can, he’d taken some swim classes as a child and Lydia’d drug him to the lap pool at Stanford for workouts three times a week so he’s _good_ , and he uses an extra push, pressing power through his palms to drive him forward.

As is, though, when they both get to the other end, look up, they’re nearly tied and only a few inches apart again. Both of them suck in breath, and Derek’s laughing again.

“I think you were a half a second earlier,” he admits, and Stiles laughs now, leaning against the pool wall, taking a deep breath.

“Dunno. I think you were.”

“Don’t be dumb,” Derek replies, turning half a turn to look at Stiles at the same moment Stiles turns his head and then they’re staring at each other again.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question feels a little left field, enough that it startles Stiles and there’s a full moment where he’s speechless before he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Of course,” he eventually says back, and Derek’s smiling like he’s the happiest he’s ever been and then he’s pressing Stiles’ back to the pool wall, lips against his soft, careful. It’s only a few seconds before he’s pulling back and swallowing audibly, eyes searching Stiles’.

“I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you in the airport,” he admits, and it almost makes Stiles’ heart ache.

“You could’ve.”

Derek’s still staring at him, one hand on his bicep and the other on his face, cupping his jaw.

“You know how serious I am.”

“I do.” Stiles nods. “I am, too.”

Then Derek’s kissing him again, a lot less gentle and a lot more insistent, body hard against his own. Stiles lets his hands wander; down those _god damn_ abs, one around to his back, his ass, pulling his hips closer.

“I think,” Stiles breathes out as they break apart, Derek’s mouth moving down, across his jaw, his neck, “That if this is going anywhere we should head back up to the room.”

“You want it to?” Derek asks, biting at Stiles’ collarbone, hands on the back of Stiles’ thighs, hitching him up and grinding into him in one smooth move. Stiles huffs a laugh, legs wrapped around Derek’s waist and hands around his neck tipping his head up toward the ceiling and Derek takes full advantage, going to fucking town on _his_ neck (and he’s always loved it, loves the deep bruises Derek leaves behind, loves the looks other people give him).

“I cannot put into words how much I have missed your dick,” he admits, and the low groan Derek lets out at that is singularly the hottest thing Stiles has heard in at least a year.

“Okay,” Derek concedes, pulling his head back up to kiss Stiles again, deep, “Okay.”

They end up with Derek sitting on the table when they go to grab the towels, Stiles in between his legs, lips pressed together; Stiles between Derek and the wall in the hallway, Derek taking full advantage of the one inch height and fifty pound weight difference to hold him there, thigh between Stiles’ legs and grinding his own dick into Stiles’ thigh and Stiles is fucking _hard_ , fuck; trying to unlock the door while staying attached at the lips, the other of Derek’s hands sliding between his ass and the shorts.

“Fuck,” Stiles groans as they finally make it to the bed, Derek climbing over him and Stiles is _not_ waiting, pulls at Derek’s suit as Derek presses kisses to his chest, the still wet fabric clinging to his thighs a little too much and it’s frustrating, if only for a moment before they’re down to Derek’s knees and – fuck. _Fuck_.

His dick is exactly as Stiles remembers it; long and thick but not intimidatingly so. A little darker than the rest of Derek, tinged slightly red, and clearly mostly hard. It’s easily the best cock Stiles’ has ever seen, and he’d fucked a lot of people at Stanford, okay? (He’s not ashamed of it, at all, but he’d quickly trade all of that for having spent those years with Derek. He’s got nobody but himself to blame for that, but – now’s not the time for self-pitying thoughts, he reminds himself, reaching down to slide one hand around the girth).

“Fuck,” Derek breaths out, placing his forehead on Stiles’ chest and Stiles licks his other hand before switching, jacking Derek a few times and gulping, a sudden excess of spit in his mouth as Derek hardens more.

“Sure, whatever,” he replies, “You can do whatever the hell you wanna if you let me suck you off first.”

“Fuck,” Derek repeats, nodding quickly, and Stiles is so done wasting time. He flips them, sliding down Derek’s body, discarding his shorts the rest of the way and throwing them on the floor. Derek’s splayed out, one arm thrown over his eyes but he’s peeking out from under it when Stiles looks, jacking him once more before sliding his mouth over the tip.

Derek sucks in breath, a small tremble going through his body, as Stiles fits his mouth down, going as far as he can, one hand still around the base, the other on Derek’s tense thigh. He slides back up slowly, letting the flat of his tongue trace up, Derek’s hands coming to his hair, grasping and tugging just a bit, _just_ the way Stiles loves it. Derek’s hips jerk as Stiles makes it back to the head, flicking once into his slit, and Stiles is _totally_ laughing around the dick in his mouth as he slides back down a little quicker this time, sliding his hand in time with his mouth.

He continues, accelerating his pace a little more with each stroke, until he has to pull off, allowing himself to breath and swallow, hand playing with Derek’s foreskin as he bites his thigh, sucks on his balls for a moment. It’s just after he’s gotten Derek’s cock back in his mouth – just a little stretch, his jaw in the beginning stages of a true ache, it’s so good – that Derek’s hands grip tighter.

“Stiles,” he starts, broken enough, “Stiles. If you don’t – I wanna fuck you so bad.”

Stiles slips off after another moment, grinning as he makes his way back up Derek’s body, keeping his hand on Derek’s dick, slowly sliding up and down.

“Uh huh,” he whispers when he gets up to Derek’s face, both of his hands coming up to cup his jaw, kiss him again, “Okay.”

He sits back, ass on Derek’s hips and Derek’s hard on pressed to his crack, but there’s still the problem of Stiles has his suit still on. Derek grabs him by the hips, sliding his hands down under the waistband, pulling it down under his butt, and they’re kissing again, until one of Derek’s fingers slide over his hole and –

“Let me open you up?” Derek asks, and Stiles licks his lips, face pressed into Derek’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” he agrees readily, “Yeah. Like I said – whatever you wanna do.”

“Some people might take advantage of that,” Derek feels the need to point out, sliding the board shorts off Stiles’ legs and whipping them over to join his own.

“Then it’s good I’ve never said it to anyone but you,” Stiles answers, expression as serious as ever, and Derek’s eyes flick to red for just as second, no sounds but their breathing for a full few.

“Right,” Derek eventually says, and he flips them back so Stiles is on his back, reaching over to his bag which is on the other side of the bed and digging around and Stiles is already at that point of _really_ wanting to come, pulls on his own dick as Derek stretches over.

He pulls back with a small bottle of lube, and Stiles totally gives him a pointed look, feeling his own smirk fall into place. The tips of Derek’s ears turn red, even as his face remains neutral, and he shrugs.

“Can’t ever be too prepared,” he says vaguely, slipping his hands to the back of Stiles’ legs and pushing them up so his feet are on the mattress, knees in the air and far enough apart for Derek to slide in between them and that, all by itself, Derek naked between his legs, dick hard, is such a _great_ , such a _hot_ , sight. Stiles is _so lucky_ , even luckier as Derek flips the cap on the lube, slicking up his fingers and rubbing it around a second, warming before pressing one finger inside him – slowly, slowly, _much too slowly._

“Come _on_ ,” Stiles complains, letting go of his dick and scratching at his stomach, other hand on the bed, and moves his body down.

“’m trying not to hurt you,” Derek grunts, dragging his finger out and pressing in again, slower than Stiles would like but better than before.

“Believe me, you are not the only thing I’ve had in my ass lately,” Stiles tells him, head on the pillow, and Derek grunts again, pulling out and then, god, finally, thrusting in with two fingers.

“I’m not, huh?” he asks, and there’s so fucking _clearly_ jealousy in his voice, barely masked by feigned nonchalance. Stiles laughs, pressing back against Derek’s fingers, quickening.

“Mostly on my own,” he offers, and there’s a low growl and teeth on the soft skin of his hip.

“Don’t worry,” Stiles continues as Derek stretches him, continues biting at his waist, “You’ve always been the – fuck, best.”

His voice pitches up at the end as Derek adds another finger, the spread maybe a little much and Stiles arches his back as Derek slows, itching pain mixing with the – god, he’s cliché – the brilliant stretch, the feeling of something inside him. His fingers tighten around the sheets, low moan coming out. Derek goes aggravatingly slow now, but it’s good, hot, and Stiles nearly, nearly comes when Derek dips his head down, flicks his tongue between his fingers, once, twice, three times, licking up, up, over, then taking Stiles’ cock in his mouth, sliding down as his fingers continued in, out, in, out.

“Fucking fuck,” Stiles groans, so on edge and more than ready, _god_ , “Fuck _me_.”

Derek doesn’t stop immediately, presses kisses to the inside of Stiles’ thighs, keeps fucking his fingers into Stiles until he groans again.

“Derek, please.” And Stiles is so, so not above begging, he’s been waiting four fucking years to have Derek’s dick in him again. Derek takes it to heart, this time, removing his fingers and there’s the click of the lube again and then there’s a dick at his entrance, pressing again much too slowly but it’s a bit more of a stretch than three fingers had been, enough so that Stiles really, really doesn’t mind, especially because this is _Derek_ , the feeling formerly familiar and just as good as Stiles remembers and so, so much better than anyone else he’s ever fucked.

“God,” Stiles breathes, eyes closing on their own accord, as Derek slides in to the hilt.

“Just me,” Derek says from above him, and Stiles opens his eyes just so he can properly glare at him, even as jaw is still clenched.

“You’re literally a cliché,” he tells Derek, then waves his hand, his own form of the ‘okay’ and there’s the slow pull out, the – yep, yep, “Fuck,”, thrust forward again, and Derek’s back to sucking at Stiles’ neck, and Stiles is scratching down his back. There’s already the pinch of bruised flesh, the warmth of beard burn, as Derek fills him up, his own dick sliding against Derek’s stomach and it’s – it’s more than that Derek is easily the best fuck he’ll ever get, it’s also that it’s _Derek_ , Derek again, he never thought he’d get the chance and he’s so deeply in love with him and that makes it all the better.

“So good,” he whispers against Derek’s hair as he continues biting at his jaw, “God, you’re so good. Fuck me so well.”

It’s enough to make Derek thrust that much harder, hands tight on Stiles’ hips, fucking into him with finesse, and Stiles lets out breathy noises, the rough feeling everything he’s been missing for so long.

“So god damn tight,” Derek bites at his earlobe, it’s such a _thing_ , “Best I’ve ever had, Stiles, like you’re fucking made for me.”

It’s a mix – the brush against his cock, the nails (almost, not quite but _almost_ , claws) digging into his waist, the dick pistoning into him, Derek’s beard and teeth sliding over him – and Stiles comes, arching again as the orgasm waves through him, Derek’s lips on his just as quick and it’s maybe minutes, maybe seconds, Stiles doesn’t _know_ , just that Derek’s pushing into him like he’s got nothing to lose, fucking him so wholly, and then he’s coming, too.

And then he’s slipping out of Stiles, the feeling of cum spilling out both cringeworthy and too hot, and Derek flops down next to him, arm around Stiles and pulling him close, breath hot against the back of his neck.

“We should shower,” Stiles says after a while, already feeling sticky, the humidity not helping at all even with the barely-there breeze coming from their open window.

“Hmm,” Derek hums, pressing a small kiss to that tattoo on the base of Stiles’ neck – the triskele, a replica of Derek’s. It was one of the first one’s Stiles had gotten, just after his spark had come to fruition at twenty, and he gulps as Derek’s lips touch it, the words caught in his throat.

They do end up in the shower five minutes later, sleepy but washing each other, and Derek ends up getting Stiles off again, this time with his hand, the slick of soap showing the way, before they fall into bed again – the other one, clean, and Stiles ends up the little spoon again, Derek’s arm around him and they fall into sleep.

They wake up the next day to sunlight streaming through the window, the other bed mocking Stiles as he glances over at it, like it was ever needed. He takes a deep breath, Derek’s arm around his waist, and slowly turns over. Derek’s still asleep, snuffling into the pillow under his head and chest rising slowly, and he’s just – wow. Stiles doesn’t understand how the powers that be decided to give him even a half a chance at _this_ , besides two full ones, and he’s – he’s not going to give up so easily, this time.

He watches Derek for another two minutes before the man is blinking, taking a moment to get into his surroundings, and then staring at Stiles.

“Good morning,” Derek’s the first to speak, voice gruff and hoarse.

“Morning,” Stiles returns, and after another few seconds staring at each other, he does what he’s been thinking for _years_ now, now that he’s not scared, knowing he’s never ever going to get better than _Derek_ , “I love you.”

Derek freezes from where he’s been slowly running his hand up and down Stiles’ side, sucking in breath and eyes widening, smile dropping from his face. It’s a tense few seconds as he swallows, searches Stiles’ face.

“I’ve never stopped loving you,” he offers, and Stiles leans forward, capturing him in a kiss and they’ve both got awful morning breath, but it feels even better than the night before, more emotional.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long,” Stiles continues after they’ve broken apart, but Derek’s shaking his head, pulling Stiles’ entire body flush against his own and leaning down into his neck, running his nose along his shoulder.

“I didn’t blame you,” he speaks, voice muffled, mouth against Stiles’ skin, “I still don’t. You were young, going off to college. It’s not your fault.”

“I’ve been in love with you since I was seventeen.”

That makes Derek stick his head back up, looking at Stiles in the eyes, head cocked to the side, confused. Stiles swallows deeply, lifting his own hand to run along Derek’s face, jaw, chin.

“I was so in love with you when we even started – whatever it was. I ran away because I couldn’t believe that someone like you could ever fall for someone like me.”

“Stiles…” Derek starts, but Stiles shakes his head.

“Lydia said that my lack of self-confidence is going to be my downfall, and I get what she’s saying. I still can’t quite believe that you could ever want me, because you’re pretty much everything anyone could ever ask for and I may almost be twenty-three, may be a college graduate now, may be more graceful than I could ever imagine being at sixteen, I may be able to keep things to myself better than ever, but I’m still this weird spaz who has anxiety issues.”

“You’re more than I could ever ask for,” Derek rebuts, and Stiles smiles, shakes his head again.

“I have trouble believing that sometimes, but what I can’t do is not believe that you’re telling me truth. I’m not going to act like I get what you see in me, sometimes, but I’m not going to not trust you when you say you love me. I’m not scared anymore, and I love you.”

Derek kisses him again, like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do.

“I love you,” he whispers against Stiles’ mouth, and Stiles feels confident in his response.

“I love you, too.”  

It’s raining on their drive back to the airport, dark clouds all around. Derek’s paying close attention to the road, but his right hand makes its way over to Stiles more than once; on his knee, holding Stiles’ hand, tracing shapes into the back of his neck.

“Why did you leave New York after you came and saw Lydia and I?” Stiles asks about halfway through the drive. Derek raises an eyebrow at him.

“Kira told you?”

Stiles nods, biting his lip. It’s such an obvious nervous gesture of Stiles’, and Derek hears the ever so slight upbeat of his heart.

“I know you’re thinking it had something to do with you,” Derek says, and he doesn’t need to listen or smell Stiles’ signals that he’s been caught because his nose scrunches up, and he shrugs.

“I’m not going to lie and tell you it didn’t, but it wasn’t – your _fault_ , necessarily,” he continues, sighing, “Uhm, you know how I was out there for business? Taking pictures for the magazine I was working for at the time.”

“Yeah, you told us,” Stiles agrees.

“Right. Well, I was actually taking photos of the Griffith Observatory.”

There’s a moment’s pause as Stiles takes it in, and then, confused –

“That’s in LA.”

“It is,” Derek concedes, “I got there early, took a few dozen photos, rented a car, and headed north.”

“You came specifically to see us.”

Derek considers, rocking his head back and forth.

“Lydia’s great, I like her, she’s someone I’d be happy to have in my pack, but I’m not going to lie. It was mostly to see you.”

Stiles licks his lips, and he reaches over, takes Derek’s free hand.

“Even after all that time.”

Derek brings their joined hands to his lips, places a kiss on the back of Stiles’.

“I’ve been in love with you since you were seventeen, Stiles. I haven’t stopped since then.”

Stiles swallows, a lump in his throat, remembering that night too vividly; Derek showing up at their apartment, and he’d been knee deep in writing his thesis, only a month ‘til graduation, hadn’t left the building in three days and Lydia wasn’t far behind him. They’d cleaned up quickly when Derek had offered to take them out to dinner, and Stiles distinctly remembered Derek’s eyes lingering on him the entire night but figured it was just some weird hope he’d been harboring since forever.

“I came to see you. I was – I dunno, it was my first time in California since I’d left and I think I was hoping something would happen. But you were very much stressed about graduation, about finals and whatever, I don’t think your heartbeat was steady once through the night and I offered you the best I thought you could handle, then.”

“Your number,” Stiles guesses, and Derek nods, glancing over for just a moment before his eyes are back on the road.

“The timing just wasn’t right.”

“You left New York right after, though.”

“Yeah,” Derek nods again, “I got a hotel in San Francisco, you know that, but I don’t think I slept a minute the entire night. My flight wasn’t until the next afternoon – I thought long and hard about showing up again, taking you to breakfast, maybe, stating right then and there that I was still in love with you, but it felt – wrong. I knew you were stressed and it felt like one more thing to pile onto you. But it certainly made me realize that I couldn’t stay in New York without coming back out to you before you were ready.”

“ _That’s_ why you went to Europe?”

“One of the reasons,” he continues, “I mean, I definitely wanted to check up on Jackson and Isaac, too, make sure they were doing alright and I needed it, maybe, being an alpha again, but. Also because I knew I needed to get as far away from you as I could until I knew you were in the right mind for me to tell you again.”

“I’ve been graduated for months, though,” Stiles points out as the rain fades to sprinkles. Derek laughs.

“I actually called Scott about a week after your graduation, to let him know I’d be coming by soon, y’know, as a heads up since I’m a ‘wolf not in his pack, and he told me you and Lydia were already gone. I couldn’t believe it, if I’m being honest, and it took me a day to really – uh, to get it, I guess. That you were off and who knew if you even gave a shit about me, anymore, you had degrees, you were going to get great jobs, go off, live the rest of your life.

“Jackson texted me, though, just a couple of days after that, let me know you and Lydia were there and then Malia told Cora and I that she was trying to get you guys to come down to Argentina, that you were travelling for a little while, and I figured.” He shrugs. “Figured I’d say here, then, until you came, then see what happened.”

“And now we’re here,” Stiles says as the airport comes into view, still a few miles away but visible over the flat land.

“And now we’re here,” Derek agrees.

They watch a movie on the flight back to Buenos Aires, and though Stiles gets the middle seat between Derek and an old woman who smells like all old people smell and keeps eyeing him suspiciously, dragging her view around Stiles’ exposed neck that he knows is littered with hickies, it’s okay. He leans into Derek’s space at keeps his eye on the Spanish movie he doesn’t understand and it’s easy enough.

“Y’know,” Stiles says as they pile into a cab headed back to the hotel, “We could take advantage of the hotel room we’ve got before we tell the other’s we’re back. It’s only three p.m.”

“Sure,” Derek laughs, already pulling out his phone, “Except that I texted Cora when we took off and she knows how long the flight is.”

Stiles shrugs.

“We’ll say we got lost in traffic.”

Derek laughs, leaning over to kiss him.

They do end up breaking in the bed when they go to put their luggage in the room, and it’s five thirty by the time they meet the others in the lobby to go out for dinner.

“Fuckin’ called it!” Cora nearly shouts when she sees them, jumping up from her seat.

“We _all_ fuckin’ called it,” Lydia drawls from her own place on a white couch. She hasn’t even glanced at them, busy on her phone.

“Yeah, whatever, I called it _first_ ,” Cora says, a very bright smile on her face, and the other three finally stand.

“Congrats on finally getting your shit together,” Lydia amends when she finally looks at them, and Stiles rolls his eyes at her, and it’s just too perfect when Derek responds to that by wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him close enough to land a kiss on his temple.

“Love you,” he whispers in his ear, and Stiles turns his head enough to give him a peck on the lips.

“Love you too.”

“God,” Cora comments next, and she’s obviously trying for grossed out but it’s still overpowered by her absolute joy, and Malia grabs Lydia’s hand, pulls her away from the corner they’re in.

“Yeah, gross, ew, whatever, I’m starving.”

“Because you didn’t wanna stop for lunch earlier,” Iggy reminds her, though he sticks his hands in his pockets and follows them.

“Okay, but that flea market was so great!” Malia calls from where she’s already striding toward the door, dragging Lydia behind her. Cora rolls her eyes, nudges Derek as she passes, and they’re all walking out.

They have an early dinner at a moderately fancy place a few blocks from the hotel, and Stiles tests out the minor Spanish he knows, though the waitress obviously knows English and takes pity on him. They all drink the restaurant’s own Malbec, hanging out for a few hours until the restaurant starts to fill up, when they move to the neighboring bar, talking for hours and taking the ever-present gentle teasing from all four others.

“There’s a nightclub down the road, like two blocks? It’s great, one of the best in the city, and we,” Cora says, downing the remaining beer in her mug, “Have fucking reservations.”

“Reservations for a nightclub?” Stiles asks, sipping at his wine much more slowly because though four out of the six of them can’t get drunk, he is one of those two.

“Kind of,” Iggy says, tilting a flat hand back and forth, “More like, uh, being put on the list?”

“Just makes it easier to get in,” Derek explains.

“But they don’t open ‘til one in the fucking morning,” Cora speaks back up, “So we’ve still got…two hours.” She sighs dramatically, throwing her hands up in the air like it’s an inconvenience.

“Wasn’t there a deli between here and there?” Iggy asks, and Lydia totally gives him a look.

“We literally got done eating a couple of hours ago,” she points out, and not only Iggy but Derek, Cora, and Malia all shrug.

“Fucking ‘wolves,” Stiles tries, laughing, and when Malia bears her teeth menacingly he throws his hands up in innocence.

“Fucking ‘coyotes too, god.”

“Alright, alright, let’s go,” Derek says, smile on his face and Stiles is struck again by how _happy_ he is, it’s positively beautiful to see and if he’s had _any_ reservations about leaving Beacon Hills they’ve all gone because he needs to keep _Derek_ away, he needs to keep Derek as happy as he is now _always_.

They do stay at the deli for a long while, eating sandwiches and Iggy buys seven cured hams to be picked up on their way home in three days since the next _asado_ ’s been set for the night they come home and “you have not lived until you’ve had authentic _jamón argentino_ ”.

They stay at the nightclub for hours, actual hours, until early morning, dancing among one another as music pounded through, making friends here and there and it’s brilliant (Stiles might be fucked up, whatever) to see Derek’s eyes flash once in a while when someone dances too close to Stiles, and it’s even more brilliant to feel Derek’s hard body pressed against his and _this_ is everything Stiles has thought being a young person should be about and _he_ gets to live it.

They stumble back to their hotel as it’s nearing six in the morning, and Malia and Lydia can’t keep their hands off each other and they all drag their significant others back to their hotel rooms and Stiles is infinitely glad he can’t hear as well as the weres can from the faces Derek makes toward the room next to theirs, dead set on making Stiles moan as loud as possible to cover up whatever sounds are coming through the wall.

They don’t get up until the afternoon the next day, meeting up with Cora and Iggy for late lunch at the café right next to the hotel, joined by a sleepy-looking Malia and Lydia about halfway through, and they spend the rest of the day at the hotel, lounging.

It’s late night again, everyone gathered in Lydia and Malia’s room to watch whatever’s on TV (it ends up being a soccer match – _fútbol_ , Iggy actually glares at Stiles when he calls it soccer and it’s so dumb that everyone else cracks up, and Iggy shakes his head mumbling “ _americanos_ ” under his breath.

Lydia and Stiles end up on the balcony, wine in hand because Argentina apparently makes some of the best in the world and the two of them are _not_ about to pass up that opportunity. It’s quiet, they’re on a high enough floor that the nightlife below is low murmuring, only the match inside and the other four’s conversations to be heard. The sliding door is half closed, night air cool and less humid than the day. They sit in silence for a few minutes, taking in the scenery, the peacefulness, before Stiles brings it up.

“You’re staying here, aren’t you.”

He doesn’t pose it as a question because it’s _not_ a question. Lydia’s invested already in the relationship with Malia and Malia is not quiet about her love for Argentina, for her love of the Prieto pack. Lydia smiles sadly at him, shakes her head.

“I’m going to try to get into _la Universidad_ here; they have good programs in biochem, economic study, law, medicine. There’s a good chance I’ll get in, and Malia says she might try for a degree, too, she’s not sure, but she’s willing to live in Buenos Aires with me until I finish. And I like the Prieto pack, I’d be happy there.”

Stiles just nods; he expected the answer, but it’s still a slight shock.

“What about you?”

Stiles looks to Lydia again, shrugs, takes a drink.

“Derek mentioned something about Barcelona being the prettiest city he’d ever been to, and it’s big enough I think I’d be okay not knowing too much Spanish. Maybe London? I liked it there. There’s always New York City, Derek’s always spoken about it like a place he likes and it was…yeah. I enjoyed our time.”

“Pretty much you’ll follow Derek wherever he goes,” Lydia amends, and Stiles laughs, nods.

“I mean. I got him, y’know? I’ve loved him for five years – almost six years – and I finally. Got him. I’m not letting him go easy.”

They’re quiet for another few moments, looking out on the lit-up city stretching all the way to the horizon.

“You don’t think you’ll stay around here?”

Lydia’s voice doesn’t give anything away but Stiles knows her well enough to hear the ever so slight lilt. He looks at her again, sets down his wine and reaches over to take her free hand. She lets him, doesn’t so much as glare, squeezes his hand.

“I’ll miss you too, but. It doesn’t feel quite all the way there, here.” He takes a deep breath, sighs. “It’s super pretty, though, lots to photograph, and Derek’s only family is here. I don’t doubt even if we move on we’ll be back regularly.”

Lydia hums, squeezing his hand again before dropping it.

“I’m glad you found your someone,” she whispers, just quietly enough Stiles strains to hear it. He smiles, drinking again.

“I’m glad you found yours, too.”

The sliding door opens behind them, and then Malia’s there, slinging her arms around Lydia and pressing a kiss to her cheek and whispering something that makes Lydia tinge red and giggle and it’s a private moment and Stiles gets up, heads back inside where Derek’s sitting on the couch, watching Cora and Iggy who are clearly into the game on TV, amusement in his eyes at their intensity. Stiles goes over to the couch, plops down next to Derek who opens his arms immediately to let Stiles lean in, brushing a cheek against his temple to scent him and it’s easy, simple.

Stiles doesn’t know where they’ll end up, and he doesn’t think he really cares as long as Derek’s there. In two days they’ll head back down the coast, have an _asado_. They’ll probably leave in a few weeks, head back to Europe, or maybe South Africa, Stiles has always been interested in the culture there, maybe even back to the US. He doesn’t know, but he’ll be happy there, with Derek.

He doesn’t regret leaving Beacon Hills, at all, since this is where it landed him.

**Author's Note:**

> The convo between Derek and Ines I didn't translate:  
> "No estamos" = we aren't  
> "Lo siento" = sorry  
> "Quizás pronto, aunque" = maybe soon, though
> 
> aw, cute, adorbs, I'm in love with their love
> 
> and Cora to Hera after the "must be a hale thing" comment:  
> "Cuidadosa" = careful  
> "una chispa" = a spark
> 
> and because I fuckin' love easter eggs, Stiles' tattoos: the pentacle represents Stiles as a magical being, the triquetra is a Celtic symbol and banshees are typically Celtic, the wolf silhouette obvi represents the 'wolves, and the triskele - duh. 
> 
> I'm super proud of this and I love it and I only kind of regret writing this instead of my St. Patty's Day fic, which will be posted soon???? It's supposed to rain tomorrow and Friday so it'll probably be slow at work which means I should get a chance to do some writing. alrighty! I'm not fuckin' crying at it being finished, at all.
> 
> (sometimes) find me at [asocialfoxpaw](https://asocialfoxpaw.tumblr.com)


End file.
